


The Story of Tonight

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Listen to Me [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug recovery, Dubious Consent, F/M, Found Families, Friends With Benefits, Graphic Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Neglect, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape Recovery, Slow Build, Understanding, Violence, friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 84
Words: 84,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Hurricane</p><p>John Laurens said 'no,' and Martha didn't listen. They have sex anyway. </p><p>He said 'no' again, and Alex didn't listen. Alex outs him to his father anyway. </p><p>He didn't say 'no' the third time. Instead, he paid cash and took the drugs, because they helped him sleep. </p><p>He doesn't say 'no' any time after that. He doesn't think it matters. No one listens when he says 'no.' </p><p>At the start of second semester of Freshman year, John Laurens meets a boy named Lafayette. Lafayette dares him to say 'no'.  </p><p>It starts out of spite. It starts out of loss. </p><p>But it doesn't matter, because when John says 'no' to Lafayette, Lafayette listens. </p><p>It's nice to be listened to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).



> This story was originally started as an 'Inverse' of Non-Stop by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle. I strongly recommend reading their fic to start with. 
> 
> After they prompted me to write a fic involving sexual assault, where a female is the perpetrator, I wrote 'Hurricane'. Feeling as though Hurricane did not have the space or longevity that it needed to go over the complicated healing necessary in that fic, I rewrote this story to serve as Hurricane's sequel. 
> 
> Each chapter is 1000 words exactly, and like Non-Stop it trades POV every other chapter. 
> 
> This story is complete at 84k and will be posted in regular intervals daily. The final part of this story is currently in the works, and at the time of this posting is at 20k. I believe this whole series will be finished by the end of the summer. 
> 
> If you have any comments or suggestions, please to let me know. I look forward to improving my work under your careful tutelage and grace.

_ How's school? _

John stares at the question. He should probably change his number. He's been thinking of doing just that for months. Since the first text came in over the summer. He's not really sure how she got the number to begin with, but Martha's smart. It probably didn't take too much effort on her part.

He doesn't usually answer. Alex is with him more often than not, and John's not interested in seeing Alex's response to the texts. When they  _ do  _ come in, John flicks them to the side. Pretends they don't exist. Moves on.

Alex isn't with him right now.

The cold winter wind is kicking up outside, blowing snow squalls through the streets. John's tucked up on the couch of the upstairs coffee shop. Hustle and bustle of the student body moving around one floor below. Not too many people come up here. Mostly it's a study room.

The glass window pane shudders under the pressure of the wind. It's distracting. John pulls away from the phone to look at it. Watch as some of the kids outside are buffeted left and right.

His phone buzzes again. A reminder that he had a text waiting.

He glances back down, and flicks it open. Types back,  _ It's fine. _

Message read: 8:40PM.

After a moment, the dot dot dot typing symbol appears. Licking his lips, he waits. Tries to figure out what the point of continuing this conversation was. Why he was going through any of this to begin with. His fingers squeeze the phone in restless beats.

Her message comes in.  _ Did you have a fun break? _

Winter break?

No.

He'd spent three weeks trailing after Alex, eyeing everyone they passed by. Hoping someone might have something he could use. He'd spent it shivering and aching and desperate. And he'd come back in worse shape than he'd left. Grateful, at the very least, that he understood exactly who he needed to approach here.

_ Why are you doing this?  _ He asks her instead. Message read 8:44PM. There's no more dot dot dot.

There's a stampede on the stairs. A group of girls clutching drinks, laughing loudly. John rolls his eyes at the terracotta ceiling as one of the girls breaks off. "John?" she walks over, smiling.

"Hey Peggy." Shifting so he's sitting a touch more upright, he licks his lips. Grimacing when she sits across from him. "What are you doing here?"

"You missed your start of term check-in." Probably. He didn't even know that was a thing. Shrugging a little he reached for the hot chocolate he'd purchased nearly an hour ago. It was cold and empty, but she didn't need to know that. Picking at the cardboard wrap with his nail, he mumbled an apology. "It's fine...I just wanted to see if you were all right?"

Her friends settled onto one of the big tables in the back corner. One of them went in search of the free board game cabinet. Called out, "Hey Peggy, hurry up!" when she'd made her selection.

"I'm fine," he tells Peggy slowly. She isn't convinced.

In fact, she looks ready to settle in for the long haul. Friends be damned. A few more people came up the stairs. None of them who he's waiting for. "You look a little strung out to be honest," Peggy tells him bluntly. He doesn't flinch. But, it's a near thing though. Muscles coiling.

He glares at her. "And you look like you were doing something before you came over here."

She's visibly unimpressed by his bravado. It reminds him a little of Martha before everything about Martha was ruined. His phone buzzes.  _ Speak of the devil... _

He glances down at the message.  _ I'm sorry. _

He's received one hundred and forty four 'I'm sorry' messages since she'd gotten his number. He knows because he's counted them. There's a limit of social acceptance when it comes to forgiveness. If someone apologizes, the hurt party is meant to forgive and forget. Move on.

He's had one hundred and forty four reminders letting him know that he hasn't moved on yet.

Alex would probably think that it wasn't healthy. Then again….Alex also holds grudges worse than anyone John's ever met. Who’s he to judge?

Peggy takes a deep breath. Says, "I'm not trying to pick a fight….but you need to show up to your check-ins. They're important."

"Send me an email with the next date." Someone else walks up the stairs.

_ Finally. _

Charles Lee walks with an uncanny amount of bravado. It rolls off him with endless arrogance. John and Peggy both stand, and Lee purrs at her as he falls into place beside them. "Miss Schuyler,"

Peggy scowls. "Lee."

"What a surprise."

John shifts his feet. If this is ruined because Peggy decided to put her nose where it didn't belong, he's going to scream. "She was just leaving."

"You're...friends?" Peggy says the last word like it's something vile. Elongating it and dragging out the 'n' so it runs into the 's'. Arms crossing over her chest.

Lee smiles. Lips spreading shark wide. "I wouldn't call us  _ friends _ , exactly," he explains. One of his arms wrap around John's waist and tugs him to his side. John lets him do it.

Peggy is nothing if not determined. "I thought you were dating Alex."

"Alex and I have never been exclusive." Never will be, in all likelihood. The thought almost makes John's skin crawl. Though explaining that to Peggy is so far on the bottom of his list of things to talk about, he'd rather talk to Martha.

"C'mon, Johnny," Lee oozes. John's fingers twitch. He hates that name. "We've got things to do. People to see. You know the deal."

Peggy opens her mouth to argue, but it doesn't matter. Lee's leading John away. And as they walk down the stairs, John feels something slip into his pocket. "Spot me some money for a coffee," Lee commands.

John gives him more than enough. 


	2. Chapter 2

"I made a mistake," Hercules moans on the other end of the line. It's late. Past midnight. Most of the students up at the dorms are asleep or getting into bed. The ones that aren't are up partying or causing a mess. And Hercules has just finished complaining about each and every one of them.

"Don't like being an RA?" Lafayette teases. It's easy to rile his friend up. After all this time? It comes naturally. Hercules moans again. Long and drawn out. Lafayette listens as he flops backwards onto his bed. Huffing loudly.

It's strange listening to Hercules complain. With his feet generally firmly placed on the ground, Hercules didn't complain too often. The fact that he's gotten this far out of touch is more than a little amusing. "It makes sense on paper," Hercules mutters. "There's money, free housing...reduction of board..."

"Freshmen, drama, endless questions..." Lafayette says right back.   His friend laughs. "You could always move back in," Lafayette offers once the chuckles have subsided.

"Might take you up on that at the end of the year. Can't get out of this now." He makes another whining groan, flopping about so something is rustling. Likely a blanket or sweatshirt. Edges knocking into the phone and making it muffle for a moment. Lafayette misses Hercules' first few words, only able to make out "...again...moved...all these freshmen?"

"I have no idea, mon frère." He honestly doesn’t. Whatever shining light of serene grace befell Hercules and encouraged him to become an RA, only cast a shadow where Lafayette was concerned. He'd thought the idea sounded bizarre when Hercules first mentioned it. He still thinks it is.

Now that they're actually one semester through—it appears Hercules is starting to realize it too. Apparently, the grass isn't so green on the other side. Crossing the street, Lafayette lifts a hand to his mouth and yawns. He's tired. Has been burning the candle at both ends between actually attending school and various projects he had in different classes.

Hercules starts talking about the kids in his dorm. Especially one in particular who Hercules is pretty sure is one of those mad genius types. Lafayette only half listens. Pinching the phone with his ear and zipping his jacket up more firmly around his scarf. His fingers are biting cold, and he rubs them roughly. Trying to get the sensation back.  

He's almost to his car when he hears the scuffle.

A few lowered voices and the sound of one person in particular getting feisty. There's an argument brewing, and Lafayette would think nothing of it. Except. He can hear someone getting hit. "Just got to my car," Lafayette excuses to Hercules. He hears his friend sigh and wish him goodnight. He says much the same, then hangs up.

Follows the sound.

He recognizes the upperclassmen immediately. Generally not physically violent on their own, they had a tendency to get a bit slap happy after a few drinks. And...Lafayette's been to enough parties to see them making fools of themselves. The kid they've cornered? Lafayette's never seen before.

But there's something in his eyes that make it abundantly clear that his patience has long since come to an end. Sam's got him by his collar and is hissing in the kid's face. Spit is flying in all directions, as he presses the kid against the wall of Teller's bar. Glancing back at George for confirmation.

"I didn't do jack shit to you, _buddy,_ so why don't you _back the fuck_ off." The kid's spitting mad. And judging from the way George keeps rubbing at his jaw? He's already got a few licks in.

George scowls. Steps forward and makes to strike the kid again, for whatever the hell he _did_ do. Lafayette catches his arm and throws him back. "That's not very nice, now is it?" he asks sweetly. Samuel must have loosened his grip on the kid, because suddenly the boy's moving. Punching the upperclassmen right straight in the nose before following up with a solid knee to the man's groin.

George tries to get back involved, but Lafayette's uninterested. He kicks George's feet out from under him. Reaches for Sam and holds him still as the kid lands a vicious backhand across the man's face.

It doesn't take long for both to flee after that. Hissing promises for payback and stumbling away before the fight goes much farther. The kid's breathing hard at Lafayette's side. Fists clenched and breaths coming in harsh pants. "Who the fuck are you?" the boy asks.

No. Not boy. It's hard to see in the moonlight and the faint yellow glow of Teller's street lamp, but the kid's probably a freshman. Older than Lafayette originally supposed, though it doesn't mean much. The feisty little imp is small and hostile. Spitting mad getting ready for another fight.

"How you say...?" Lafayette drawls, holding up his hands. "I come in peace?"

The boy steps forward. Needs to arch on his toes a little to stand at eye level. "Well you can _go_ in peace too."

He actually shoulder checks Lafayette out of the way. Knocking him to the side as he stalks toward the street. Bare arms cast gold. _Bare arms._ "No jacket, _petit lapin?"_ Lafayette calls. The feet slow to a stop.

 _"Son of a—"_ Turning on his heel, the freshman marches right back into the alley. Looking left and right like he expects the coat to materialize. He's tapping his pockets in frantic little movements. But apparently it's not his mobile or wallet he's looking for. He's got those.

Hands stuffed in his own pockets, Lafayette makes no motion to help. Just watches as the brat starts cursing vividly. Even kicks at one of the cardboard boxes resting by a dumpster. "How does one lose their jacket, _lapin?"_ Lafayette asks curiously.

" _One_ gets fucking jumped, and _one_ has it torn off him and put God knows where." Lafayette hums thoughtfully.

"What an absolute shame."


	3. Chapter 3

John _hates_ this bastard. "You know what, _Frenchie,_ " he seethes. "You can shut your God-damned mouth. Nobody asked you." Between Martha texting him,  Peggy trying to play patron saint of the under-privileged, Lee insisting John join him and their friends for a few hours, and running into Samuel and George, the last thing John needs is to lose his score too. Still tucked away in his front right pocket. Waiting for him like a promise.

He'd just wanted to get to sleep tonight. That's it. That's all he wanted. And that's not going to happen at all now thanks to this mess.

Running his hand through his hair, he tries to think. It can't have gotten far. The fight started in Teller's. It must still be inside. He goes to the back-door, but it's locked. He'll have to go around.

Stomping past his voyeur, he starts heading toward the front. The bouncer glares at him when he tries to enter. Holding out one hand and shaking his head. "You've had enough." Actually. John hasn't had _any._ The very idea of drinking himself to oblivion with Lee skulking about was repugnant. He'd been waiting to get an excuse to leave, and when the fight started he'd gotten his opportunity.

Now he'd really like to go home. Please and thank you. "Look, asshole, I'm not going in there for a drink. I lost my coat." He moves to sneak past, but is shoved back so hard that heel catches his ankle and he goes tumbling. Tripping into the person behind him.

Oh. The French fuck. He's back. Holding John upright and chuckling under his breath. "Answer's still no," the bouncer informs John primly.

"What's it look like, _petit?_ " John hears, breathed into his ear.

Clenching his fingers tight, he spits out the description. "It's blue. Has buttons, here." John's fingers wave over his sides. Nodding, the Frenchman releases John's arms and steps around him. He flashes his ID at the bouncer and slips inside without so much as a glance back in John's direction.

John licks his lip. Cold air wraps around him. Chilling his skin. He rubs his hands against his arms. Angry. How could he lose his coat. Like this? How could he do this? This is unbelievable. This is—

The Frenchman shows up. Coat in hand. He smiles at the Bouncer, then tosses it at John's face. Catching it, John twists and pushes his arms through his sleeves. "What do we say when someone does something nice for us... _twice?"_ Pretty boy asks.

John doesn't bother keeping the malice from his tone. " _Thank you."_ He _is_ grateful after all. Even if he could have done without the commentary. He slides a hand into his pocket. His bag's still there. His heart starts to settle.

Especially when he catches the Frenchman's eye. His expression isn't quite condescending, but it's certainly _knowing._ He'd had a chance to get rid of it. Claim it fell out, or wasn't there. Instead, he'd given it back. "Thank you," John repeats. This time a little more honestly.

Nodding, the man steps closer. Motions to a car just down the road. "I can give you a ride home." It's a genuine offer. Especially as another snow squall blinds the street, biting through John's jacket and pinching his skin.

"Yeah. Okay. What's your name anyway?"

 _"_ _Je m'appelle Marquis de Lafayette,"_ the pretentious jerk says. He rolls his wrist in the air and bows low.

"Of course it is." John's hand squeezes around the plastic wrapper in his pocket. There's something else there. Folded in amongst the squishy stretch of the bag. A piece of paper of some kind. John thumbs it awkwardly. Doesn't want to look while they're walking next to each other.

Scoffing at John with open amusement, Lafayette tugs his keys out and unlocks his car. He slides into the driver's seat and John gets in the passenger. Within a few moments, the car's engine is humming loudly. Heating vents turned on. They don’t move yet. Waiting for it to warm up before they get going. "What were you fighting about?" Lafayette asks.

He doesn’t _need_ to answer. In fact. There's no reason he _should_ answer. "They didn't like how I looked." Had made one too many offhand comments about _people like him_ and what they'd like. John had thrown the first punch. And the second. And by the time he'd gotten dragged out of the bar, he'd been well and truly prepared to follow up with a third and fourth hit.

He'd just been a little dazed. That's all. One of them had managed to hit a still healing wound from his _last_ confrontation, and it'd surprised him enough to lose his balance. Get jerked down by his jacket, which apparently had been left inside while he'd been dragged outside.

Lafayette side-eyes him. Not even bothering to hide the way his gaze travelled head to toe. "They were complaining about _your_ looks?" The comment, barely innocent, makes John flush. His cheeks burning as he shrugs.

"I know right? Compared to them—"

"— _Lapin,"_ Lafayette sighs, cutting him off. "Compared to most others. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

And. Wow. Apparently they’ve gotten comfortable enough with each other to fall directly into flirting territory. Lafayette’s not bad looking. He’s actually…pretty handsome. And it’s not helping one bit. John’s face feels like it’s on fire. He hugs his coat closer.

“My name is John.”

“John…Johnny?”

“No.” Definitely not _Johnny._ “John.” Lafayette pauses. Nods.

“John.”

He practically purrs the name. The sound morphing to something absolutely filthy. John twists and stares at him. Blinking a few times. Tongue flicking out and licking his lips. “Why’d you help out, anyway?”

“Are we being nice now?” Lafayette asks. Winking at him. He pulls the car out onto the road and starts his way back to the school. John crosses his arms over his chest and doesn’t answer. Stares out the window. Whatever. He’s happy being quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

Even though the kid’s name is John, ‘lapin’ sounds better. On the trip back to the school, Lafayette uses it a few times. Grinning every time John rolls his eyes. Muttering under his breath. “What’s it even mean?” John asks. 

“Rabbit.” And he is a little rabbit. Small and tiny, feisty and ready to go if pressed. More likely to run away if not. He’s quiet. And precious. Cute little button nose that scrunches up every few seconds as if he’s smelling something he doesn’t like. 

The wind buffets against the side of the car, and John presses his back more firmly against the seat. Uncomfortable. Unhappy. “Don’t like cars,  _ petit?”  _

“Not really.” He doesn’t elaborate. Instead. He squeezes one hand against the bag of pills in his front right pocket. Lafayette rolls his eyes. He’s done well, not checking the bag and confirming for himself if the pills are there. They are. Lafayette hadn’t removed them. But he had put a piece of paper with his phone number beside them. 

_ Call me if you’d rather have fun another way. ;)  _

He imagines that kid’s going to throw the card in the trash relatively soon after discovering it. But that’s not his problem. That’s not what he’s concerned with. John’s going to need to decide for himself what he wants to do with his life. 

And Lafayette isn’t particularly interested in getting involved with getting the boy clean. It’s too much stress. Too much work. And not his problem. Still. “Out of curiosity...Is it worth drugging yourself into oblivion every night?” 

“Aww...Here I thought we were going to pretend you actually  _ were  _ a nice guy.” John crosses his arms over his chest. Wraps his body up into his coat. His face is pinching. Lafayette’s hurt his sensitive little feelings. 

Poor baby. 

“Is it worth it?” 

John doesn’t reply. Just keeps his head tucked down. Mouth pressed shut. The wind hits the side of the car even harder, and John flinches. Closes his eyes tight. There’s a quiet buzzing sound. A phone vibrating. John’s breath starts coming out in quick jerks. But he reaches for the phone anyway. 

Pulls it out and checks the number. Stares at whatever the message is. Lays it down on his lap. “I’m just tired,” John murmurs at long last. “I’m just really tired. Just...need them to go to sleep.” 

Lafayette flicks his blinker on. They’re almost back on campus. He’s not sure if he knows what to say to that. Hercules’ brother hadn’t been interested in things like that. And Lafayette doesn’t really know anyone who  _ is  _ interested in things like that. 

“Are there not legal ways to go to sleep?” he asks casually. 

John laughs. It’s a hollow and broken sound. Long absent is the bloodlust that seemed to course through John’s body barely an hour before. Replaced with something fast approaching toxicity and depression. 

He’s given up. Lost to whatever fight he’d been fighting before today. “I saved you from a hospital bill.” 

“I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital.” That’s absurd. Ridiculous. Considering how interested his attackers were in proving their point, Lafayette honestly can’t see how it would have avoided it. 

“Not even if they’d beaten you bloody? George certainly had the intention—”

“—Not even then.” 

Lafayette frowns. Tries to think about it. Tries to put himself in a position where that would make sense. As much as he enjoys fighting and taking chances...he  _ would  _ go seek treatment if he needed it. How else would he make it to the next fight? “That does not seem particularly healthy.” 

“Look, do I tell  _ you  _ how to run your life?” John scoots about in his seat. Looks forward. Peering about. As if he could summon the school closer by mere thought alone. 

“No,” Lafayette concedes. “But you’re welcome to give it a try.” 

The freshman pauses. Tilts his head condescendingly. “And what exactly would that look like?” he asks. “Me telling you how to live your life?” 

They pull up onto the main drive on campus. Lafayette pauses. Waits for John to point him to the right dorm. John does, and Lafayette’s initial suspicions are confirmed. He’s in Peggy’s dorm. Of course. “You never know,” Lafayette offers casually. “Perhaps you'll find yourself something you enjoy.”

“What, like you?” 

“If you like.” It’s easy enough to smile at the boy. And he really  _ should  _ stop thinking of John as a child. But considering his behavior...it’s hard not to. John’s expressions are mercurial.  They change so fast that it’s hard to get a read on him.

He’s sitting there right now, tilting his head strangely. As if he’s trying to work out just what he wants to say. What he wants to do. Something must click in his head, though, because Lafayette can just catch sight of John’s cheeks flushing  _ darkly  _ before John twists completely away. Shifting about in his seat. He’s  _ nervous _ .

Stopping out front of the dorm, Lafayette puts the car in park. Waits for the kid to say or do something else. He’s watching Lafayette with a curious expression. Something torn between annoyance and frustration. Lafayette waits. Expectantly. Reaching over, John unclicks his seatbelt. Pauses for a moment, and then leans over. 

The kiss is lightning fast. Matched with a rapid fire grin that splits across John’s too dark face. “Don’t give drug addicts rides home,” he suggests. “They get the wrong idea.” Clearly using all of the bravado he has to make the statement stick, John makes an extremely diligent and  _ tactful  _ retreat. He’s out of the car before Lafayette can snatch his arm back. Tug him down for a more satisfactory exchange. Head tucked low and jacket wrapped tight around his body, John doesn’t so much as glance in his direction. 

Just hurries up the stairs into the dorm. Disappearing inside. 

Lafayette was right. He lifts his fingers to his mouth. Laughs a little as he feels a tingle of memory. 

John  _ is  _ a little rabbit.


	5. Chapter 5

John’s phone buzzes. He slips a hand into his pocket and glances at it. Snorting when he sees what’s written. 

_ What are you wearing?  _

John snorts. What an idiot. 

Lafayette...isn’t subtle? After John first sent him a text, telling him that giving drug addicts his cell-phone number wasn’t a good idea _either_ , Lafayette had taken to texting him occasionally. Asking him questions with no shortage of inappropriate comments. It’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t so amusing.

Alex leans toward John. Poking him in the arm. “Who’s that?” 

Lafayette’s name is saved under  _ Confusing French Fuck.  _ Which, basically sums up their entire relationship to date. John’s only seen him twice since the night at Teller’s. Both times were walking through campus. Lafayette’s bouncing curls drawing John’s eyes like a moth to a flame. 

Lafayette winked at him both times, and John flushed. Flipped him off. Pretended that he hadn’t noticed him. It’s strange. Unusual. John’s fairly certain he’s being flirted with. And...all things considered. He’s fairly certain he’s flirting back. 

Alex pokes his arm again, and John shrugs. “Just someone I met.” What did someone do next from here? The only context he has is Alex. And Alex...is Alex. The idea of talking to Alex about Lafayette is somewhat...disturbing. Actually. He’s not sure. 

Telling Alex  _ anything  _ lately has been difficult. It feels stupid. Really. Alex has been his best friend for years, but he just. Isn’t sure it’s such a good idea. Alex can’t keep his mouth shut. Can’t stop from sharing his opinion. 

And John doesn’t want his opinion on Lafayette. Doesn’t want to hear what he’s thinking about. Or why he’s thinking it. He just wants a little time and space to himself. “Someone nice?” Alex teases. Leaning close. He’s got his head resting on John’s shoulder. Arms around John’s waist. He nods awkwardly. 

“Yeah. Um. Someone nice.” Nice to look at certainly. The attitude could use an adjustment. But John can’t help but laugh a little. He wouldn’t change Lafayette at all. His cocky attitude was half the fun. And the teasing texts? Were kind of sweet. 

In a weird way.

That John had no intention of talking to Alex about. 

Another text comes in, and John shifts. Turns so Alex can’t look at the screen. Good thing too. This time. 

It’s not Lafayette.

_ I met someone.  _

Martha.

Christ. 

What was he supposed to say to _that?_ His fingers tighten around the phone. 

She sends him another:  _ He’s nice.  _

John’s tempted to send something back. Something mean. It’s on the tip of his tongue. Lash out. Be rude. Say something awful. Make something worse. She starts typing. Dot dot dot. He sends out:  _ Leave me alone.  _

The typing animation stops abruptly. It doesn’t continue. 

“C’mon, John!” Alex whines. “Tell me about him. What’s he like?” 

“I don’t know,” he replies quietly. He never asked Martha. Didn’t let her explain. How would he know what this guy was like? He doesn’t know her type. Doesn’t know anything about her. No. That’s not true. He knows. He just. Doesn’t want to think about it. 

Doesn’t want to let the thoughts run around his head again and again. Driving him progressively more insane. He pats his pocket. He’d taken his last pill yesterday. Let himself run low because he thought maybe it’d get better and he wouldn’t need as much. 

No such luck. 

That’s never the case. 

Alex whines, “How can you not know? You’re texting him aren’t you?” 

It makes John stop. _ That doesn’t make any sense... _ Looking at Alex, he squints. “What?” 

Alex is seemingly incapable of hiding his disapproval. “The...French guy?” he asks slowly. Frowning. “Curious French Fuck? I’m assuming it’s a guy... unless it’s a girl?” John shakes his head at that. It’s not a girl. “Right. So. What’s he like?” 

_ Snotty. Bratty. Flirty. Gorgeous. Confusing. Intelligent.  _

“Don’t know.” How do you solve a problem like  _ Lafayette _ ? His mind conjures suddenly. John sighs. Shakes his head. “I’m gonna head out.” 

“John…” Alex shakes his head. Reaches his hand out. Places it on John’s chest. “You don’t need to do this.” Alex smiles. Encouragingly. “Please. Please don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” John asks. Fingers curling into fists. “Do  _ what  _ exactly?” Alex licks his lips. Shrugs helplessly. “Yeah...yeah that’s what I thought.” He pushes past his friend. Heads out. If Alex had anything important to say? 

John isn’t in the mood to listen. 

He dials Lee’s number. Waits. Lee doesn’t answer. God-damn it. He tries calling again. Nothing. He sends out a text. 

Waits a few minutes. Tries someone else. 

Everything feels like it’s happening all at once for some reason, and no one is answering their  _ Goddamn phones.  _

He should have gotten more earlier. But Mads always told him to not give himself temptation where he doesn’t need it. Take only a certain amount at a time. It’s dangerous to keep that much in the dorm room anyway. Someone could find it. He’d be expelled. 

He can’t afford to be expelled. After how hard he worked to pass the SAT? The ACT? After how hard he had to fight to get his father to sign the FAFSA? After doing all the work himself time and time again? He’d worked too hard to make it. Keeping at it is all he has. 

Because otherwise there’d be no point in any of it. And  _ fuck.  _ Getting expelled? Telling his father? Listening to him say that he was right all along? That he’s been a  _ fucking idiot _ ? He can’t do that. He won’t. 

John’s chest is killing him. He rubs it a few times. Desperately willing the pain to subside. To give him room to think. To breathe. Each breath felt far too much. Far too complicated. “Fuck,” he curses again. 

He feels hot. Hot and uncomfortable. His skin is just on the wrong side of weird. Mouth gummy. He shouldn’t have waited this long. He’s such an idiot. The biggest idiot in the world.


	6. Chapter 6

John’s going to get himself killed. Lafayette tosses back the remainder of his drink. Settles his glass on the table. The bouncer of Teller’s bar is standing firm. Arms crossed over his chest. Brows arching.

Apparently John lost whatever goodwill he’d acquired last time he’d been here. The bouncer is not budging. No matter how hard John tries to get past. “Kid, you’re a freshman, you’re underage, and you’re done. Get out before I call the cops.”

John’s hands are opening and closing into tight fists. He snarls. Gets up into the man’s personal space. _Damn it, lapin…_ As well as he managed against Samuel and George, Lafayette seriously _doubts_ John has any training. He’s going to get that hospital visit he doesn’t want if he keeps it up. “Listen you arrogant, _fat,_ fuck,” John growls. Lafayette sighs. Grabs his jacket and slips it on. “I’m not going—”

Reaching out, Lafayette jerks the brat out of the way of the bouncer’s fist. It’s a near thing, though. Far too close for Lafayette’s liking. That’s for sure. “I’ll take him home, mon ami,” Lafayette tells the bouncer with a smile. Squeezing down on John’s arm.

He shoves the boy outside. Watches as he stumbles over his own feet. Hits his knees.  He’s breathing harsh and ragged. One hand rubs at his chest. Eyes narrowed into slits. “Silly rabbit,” Lafayette teases. “You’ll be hurt if you keep up like that, non?”

“Mind your own fucking business, _no?”_ John spits at him. Lafayette rolls his eyes. Holds out his hand. The kid doesn’t take it. Just stands up. Shaking worse than ever before. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting a drink,” Lafayette shrugs. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Which means he was looking for something. Something he obviously hadn’t gotten yet, judging by the way he tilted his chin up. Challenging and unafraid. Lafayette nods slowly.

Trying to think, he gestures towards the same alley they first met in. “What would help?” It takes John a moment. Takes him a moment to piece together whatever fragments of his thought process he has left. Formulate a decision and make it work. He steps forward. Gets into Lafayette’s space.

“I don’t want to _think.”_  

That’s easy. Easy enough. He reaches out. Slides his hand down John’s arm and pulls at his elbow. His hand. Jerks him back into the Alley and leans him against a wall. John watches him. Lafayette keeps his hands light. Soft. Giving John ever opportunity to say no. His intentions are clear. Perfectly clear. “Tell me, _lapin..._ what do you like?”

John licks his teeth. There’s tension throughout his frame. There’s irritation coursing through him. “Fight me,” he gets out. “Fight me for it.” Lafayette tilts his head to the side. He grins. And he brings their lips together.

It’s not gentle.

John doesn’t want gentle. And to be honest? When Lafayette thought about it? Thought about being sweet and tender to this intransigent child? It’s not what he wants either. He wants to see John fight. Wants to see him work for every breath. Wants to see him scratch and claw for something that makes him feel alive. And John wants it too. Proves it a moment later.

With their lips pressed tight together, a harsh parody of that first tender offering from days past, John fights for control. He surges against Lafayette. Hands gripping and shoving. Nails scratching against Lafayette’s skin. He grips tight. Jerks. Tries to control their bodies. Push Lafayette back. That’s not going to work.

Lafayette dances this way and that, and the kid is with him. Tit for tat. Moving with a kind of insistence that’s unbelievable. He’s got a fire in him. Burning bright and hot. It’s _gorgeous._

Lafayette gets a grip on John’s hair, unwashed curls flattening under his clenched fingers. He jerks the freshman to him. Slams their mouths together again. Feels their teeth crash. They’re biting. Savage and painful. Trading blows back and forth. Lafayette’s blood is singing. He slams John back against the wall, jerks his head to the side and bites John’s throat.

Joan groans. Making such an exquisite sound that Lafayette nearly loses all control. Needs to pull him in tight. Feel his body pressed flush against him.

He’s responsive. So responsive. _Mon Dieu..._

They shift and move, finding themselves more securely in the alley, out of sight and out of mind. No one can see them back here, hiding just beyond the arc of the streetlight. Careful to keep track of John’s hands and attentions, Lafayette drags John back. Runs his hands over John’s body. Twisting flesh beneath the thick layers of John’s clothing. Grips hard against John’s hips. Waiting for John to react.

John presses back. Ass sliding against Lafayette's groin. He can’t help but groan. “Are you thinking now, _lapin?”_ Lafayette manages.  

John gasps for breath. Presses back against him. Squirming for more friction. Trying to get pressure that Lafayette hasn’t yet given him. Hasn’t allowed him to get. He’s not ready for that yet. Not now. Lafayette grins. Leans in close. “Stay still _petit lapin._ ”

A foot stamps down on Lafayette’s toes. He lets up on the boy. Hisses as an elbow drives into his stomach. The fight’s started up again. And it’s more physical now. Slap, slap. Punch. Duck. Weave. John’s got guts. That’s for sure. He twists about, and Lafayette slides against him. Pins his arms to the wall. Pelvis to pelvis. Their mouths are only inches apart.

“Tell me yes,” he commands. This doesn’t go forward until he has at least that. The rest can be negotiable, but the kid’s barely got half a braincell as it is. Lafayette doesn’t want to _deal_ with the drama this kid could cause by not agreeing.

The boy snorts. Laughs a few breathy chuckles. “Yes,” he drawls out languid and slow.  “Fuck me, or I’m gonna fuck you.”

Lafayette bites down hard, and just for tonight - this fierce little angel is _his_.


	7. Chapter 7

John’s pants are unbuttoned. Firm fingers are working him over. Sliding down to cup him tight. Stroking and palming the flesh. John’s mind is blank. Thoughts fail him completely. He’s reactionary. Pressing back into Lafayette. Rocking forward into that sinful grip. His breath is hot and harsh against the cool metal bin he’s arched over. Ice cold side sending pain ricocheting through his body. It’s perfect. So perfect.  

“Is this what you wanted?” Lafayette asks. Rough palm squeezing him just on the right side of too much. John’s eyes flutter. He grinds back against Lafayette’s dick. Groaning as the bulge rubs between his cheeks. He wants this.

Christ.

He wants this more than he’s wanted anything in a long time.

He has no idea what he’s doing. He has no idea how he got _here,_ of all places. But he’ll take it. He’ll take _this_ and hold onto it with both hands tight.

This isn’t Alex and all his confusing back and forth decisions. This isn’t Martha and her manipulative games. This isn’t Charles Lee and his demands for money. Demands for something that John is wearily willing to pass over. Because what does it matter?

This is Lafayette. Lafayette, with his perfect skin, dark and smooth. Black hair curling in a lion’s mane about his head. Teeth to die for. Hands to kill for. Lafayette, who’s been flirting and teasing and ready to go, every step of the way.

 _Oh God_ , John _wants_ this. He hasn’t had something he’s wanted in so damn long, and if Lafayette doesn’t give it to him soon, he’s going to scream.

“Please,” John begs. “Please, please. I want this. Yes. Please. Plese. Please. I’ll do anything. I just— _please.”_ His eyes are wet. John blinks. Blinks hard. There are tears on his cheeks and they’re freezing in lines. His cheeks are ice cold. He’s gasping for air, but it doesn’t matter.

Lafayette pulls him back by his hair. Twists his head around so their lips can touch once more. His stubble rubs against John’s chin. It feels like bliss. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Lafayette tells John patiently.

“Please. Lafay-Laf- _Laf._ Please. I need this.” John knows he’s babbling. Knows he’s not making any sense. He knows he’s falling apart, but that doesn’t matter. Because Lafayette whispers something in French against his skin.

He presses against John’s back. Leans him forward. Another hand squeezes his balls firmly. John can feel his pants being pushed down further. There’s pressure at his perineum, and John moans. It’s harsh and rough, and so perfect John hears himself moaning again. It’s filthy and rough. And John can’t help but think that even _Alex_ had never been this efficient.  And John thought Alex knew every part of his body.

“I’m going to fuck you, John,” The warning isn’t necessary, but John nods anyway. Babbles through it. Yes. _Yes._  

Harsh fingers twist against his left nipple at the same time as something presses deep within him. It burns. It burns hot and spikes of pain shoot through him. John’s eyes flutter. As rough as this is, it’s not nearly enough. “Just fuck me,” he hisses. As close to begging as he dares himself to go. More teeth slide against his neck.

“Patience. Patience….”

John’s being patient. Even in the cold, arching up against Lafayette’s hands. Skin flushed and damp with sweat. He’s going to lose it right here in this alley.

Smelling like piss and vomit. It’s dark and it’s cool. And admittedly, John’s been in far worse positions, but he can’t help but thrill at the sensation of the risk of it all. His father would be disgusted. Would hate him. Curse him. Call him an amoral bastard.

Well.

 _Fuck_ him.

John’s not going to think of his father right now. He’s not. Just like he’s not going to think about Martha. He’s not going to think about her texts.

He’s only going to think about the pressure building behind him. The realization that something is pressing against John’s hole. John opens his mouth. The pressure is building to a boil. He’s a powder keg about to explode. He groans.

Thoughts stutter and break apart. “You’re not going to—”

He’s not.

A hand slaps over John’s mouth mere moments before he shouts. His vision turns white. His head slams forward. Ducking his chin to his chest. He’s being shushed. Mouth clamped tight to keep him from screaming. There’s air breathing into his ears. He’s gasping for breath. The feeling is sharp and stinging and John’s eyes have rolled back in his head.

He’s gasping for breath. Can’t quite draw it with the hand there. He claws at it. It lifts only fractionally. _“God more,”_ he begs.

Lafayette grins. John can feel the lips spreading by his ear. The older man pushes in deeper. Pulls out just far enough that John’s head is spinning. Slams it home again. Fire erupts through John’s body. John can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t focus on anything except the feeling of being used.

Being used over and over. It’s blotting out the thoughts. Rearranging his head. He moans. Fiery pleasure filling him over and over. The rough palm is back. Stroking him off. Telling him to come. Ordering it.

Commanding it.

As if John’s sole responsibility in life was to provide such things. John rocks his hips down. “More. More. More.”

The friction’s not enough. Not going to be enough for a long while. He tries. His fingers reach. Grab onto Lafayette and pull. Jerk him backwards and forwards. “That’s right...good _lapin…”_

Lafayette leans down. Squeezes John’s hips tight and slams in one final thrust. John comes. Vision exploding. Mind spinning. Reeling. Lafayette catches him before he can fall. Holds him close and settles him  into the folds of his arm.

“Silly rabbit,” Lafayette tells him.

 _Tricks are for kids,_ John’s brain supplies. Standing there, dripping and draining, John realizes: this exactly what he wanted.

For the first time, everything is perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

Lafayette  _ likes  _ John. The thought strikes him as odd. Especially when the freshman just rolls his eyes at him when they’re finished. Grudgingly accepting a ride back to the dorm. But Lafayette likes him. Especially likes how after he parks his car, it’s the final peck on the lips that gets John blushing like a fire hydrant. Lafayette kisses him chastely, and John recoils. Fingertips tracing his lips. 

“Have a good night Lapin,” Lafayette tells him. He nods. And flees. 

And one week later, John’s back at Teller’s. Spoiling for a fight with the bouncer. Flashing his teeth. Sliding his eyes toward Lafayette. Challenge on his face. Desperate for something more. 

Lafayette grins. If there’s one thing he has little trouble doing, it’s catering to John’s brand of chaos. And if there’s one thing that Lafayette’s come to yearn...it’s the sight of John Laurens flying beneath him. Arching up into his fingers. Babbling under his breath. Moaning in harmony with Lafayette’s thrusts. 

Entirely unaware of just how gorgeous he is. 

“You like this don’t you?” Lafayette asks as he breaks the boy again and again. Sex always the end result. Fights always the precursor. Trading punches and scratches. New ways to mar each other’s skin, before they fall into one another’s bodies. 

“I like feeling,” John tells him, dragging Lafayette down once more. 

Lafayette traces bruises he knows  _ he  _ didn’t leave on John’s skin. Kisses them. Bites them. Tries to layer his own right on top. He doesn’t say a word about them, and that seems to be the best course of action. John keeps coming for him. So it must be good. 

“Did you miss me?” Lafayette asks. Nipping at John’s lips. Enjoying how John scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Plays tough and strong. Plays it as though he isn’t desperate for their unions. “You should have called.” He grins and trails a hand up John’s body. “I enjoy pumping you full of something other than your drugs.” It’s a filthy comment. One that makes John shiver under Lafayette’s touch. 

“I didn’t come here to listen to you talk about that,” John growls. And Lafayette nods. He knows this. 

He just couldn’t help himself. 

Pressing a kiss to John’s head, he fucks the boy hard and fast. Relishing the feel of John’s blood on his hands. John’s moans in his ears. 

It’s hot and messy. Long enough to be satisfying, but still too quick. When they’re done, Lafayette flicks off his condom into the dumpster he’d just had John bent over. Admiring the bruises he squeezed onto John’s wrists. “Enjoy your evening, lapin,” he says. Biting John’s throat once more. 

John just pulls away. “Sure.” He adjusts his clothes. Digs his hands into his pockets. Walks off with his head down. Feet limping beneath him. Gait awkward. He doesn’t accept the ride this time. Even though Lafayette offers it to him. 

Doesn’t accept the light kiss Lafayette’s taken to giving him, just to see him flush. 

It doesn’t change a thing. 

They don’t  _ need  _ to talk. To make anything official. Not really. They find each other often enough. All John needs to do is step into Teller’s. Catch his eye. Lead him out so they can knock each other down over and over again. 

“I’m not your problem,” John tells him sharply. Once. After Lafayette dared to ask about the drugs he knows John’s taking. The pills that Lafayette remembers seeing. The need John has to fill himself with more and more of them. As if it’ll help anything. 

And John’s right. He isn’t Lafayette’s problem. 

And between that moment and the next time John crashes through the door at Teller’s, Lafayette works hard to  _ remind  _ himself that John’s not his problem. He spends time with Hercules. Assists Angelica with her plans for the STD awareness day. Works on projects with his classmates. 

John’s not his problem. 

He can watch TV and not think about John. He can eat food without letting John occupy his thoughts. 

John is just an active body keeping his dick warm. A bratty child who gets into fights. Who responds to his texts with vague confusion. Who always looks slightly uncertain. And that’s fine by Lafayette. It truly is. 

The next time he sees John, they leave Teller’s side by side. He wastes little time throwing John down fast and strong. Doesn’t give John a chance to breathe before he’s on him. Pinning him. Grinning as he feels vertebrae straining beneath his touch.  

“Fuck me…” John requests. He always requests that. And Lafayette always gives him what he wants. He pushes in hard and fast, and he makes every moment count. 

But John keeps his mouth shut when Lafayette finishes. Keeps his eyes closed. Lets out a deep breath, and stays still as Lafayette pulls back. 

_ Still _ , except for how he slides to the ground. Pants around his ankles. Breathing far too slow. Shaking like a leaf. Lafayette pauses.  _ That’s not right... _

He leans down, snatches John up by the shirt. Hoists him to his feet and slams him against a wall. Not once does John look Lafayette in the eyes. Grumbling, Lafayette reaches down and jerks John’s pants into place. Fixes his clothes. Even arranges John’s hair so it’s not as sloppy. John makes a sound. Nervous laughter. “Thanks for the ride,” he gets out between chuckles. 

Lafayette grits his teeth. Leans down to force John to meet his eyes.  _ He’s fucking high.  _  “You’re a mess,” Lafayette seethes. He means it more ways than one. John seems to accept it though. Nods. Even apologizes. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. And Lafayette wishes he could hate him for this. For putting him in this position. But instead, he draws John into his chest. Holds him there for nearly an hour. And just lets John close his eyes. Resting peacefully even as they stand there in the dark. 

Lafayette lied. 

At some point, John  _ did  _ become his problem. And right now? He doesn’t know what to do. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the next few chapters for violence, drug use, and very dubious consent.

“Want to do something?” Alex asks. He’s giving John that look. The look that says he wants to give John another lecture about the benefits of sobriety. John’s half tempted to listen to it too. Considering what he’d just done to Lafayette...it’s probably not a bad idea. He shouldn’t have done that to him. Shouldn’t have put him in that position. 

Has no idea why he did. Just knows from the short texts he received afterwards, that Lafayette hadn’t been impressed. 

John had known from the onset that Lafayette wouldn’t want to fuck him while he was high. He’d always gone to the man while he was sober. Looking for something the drugs couldn’t provide. And Lafayette had indulged him. 

Sighing, John nods at Alex. Lets Alex pull him into his dorm room and settle on the bed. Elle the turtle migrating onto his lap. Blankets pulled around his shoulders. Alex is trying a little too hard. But it’s nice. Comfortable. 

Almost brings back feelings of peace from before everything went to hell. He even leans over to press his head against  Alex’s stomach. Closes his eyes to doze as Alex pulls up a romcom on his laptop. It’s strange. Lying this close to Alex. He used to feel...different. Used to feel at peace in Alex’s arms. 

But try as he might, he can’t get the feeling of disappointment to leave him. He hasn’t been able to shake the well of sadness that grows whenever he presses in close. Despair warring with exhaustion. Warring with his inability to ever find a sense of peace. 

“Sleeping?” Alex asks after a while. 

“Dozing,” he replies. Even if it’s not true. Alex knows better, but he likes to pretend that John’s capable of functioning like a human being. Likes to think that John’s just one sane decision away from getting sober. 

Alex runs his hands through John’s hair. Snuggles him nice and close. Doesn’t say anything as John’s fingers tap against his sides. Or when John’s whole body starts shaking uncontrollably. He makes a whining noise. Upset. But he doesn’t give John the lecture. Even if it must be on the tip of his tongue. 

Instead, he shifts so he can try to squeeze John even tighter. And John’s grateful. He is. But he can’t be here right now. Can’t keep doing this. His chest is aching. His lungs hurt. He’s tired and he just wants it all to stop. 

And the one person he’s started going to to make things better? He can’t anymore. 

He ruined it. He ruined everything. 

Opening his eyes, John stares at Alex’s computer screen. Glares at the tiny clock in the bottom right corner. It takes Alex exactly four hours longer before  _ he  _ starts falling asleep. And the moment John’s certain Alex is out like a light, he slides from the bed, and leaves the dorm.

His eyes have been open for far too long. Staring at computer screens. Blackboards. He rubs at them. Tries to block out the feeling that he’s losing control, and just keeps going. 

Lafayette texted him a few hours ago. But John hadn’t replied. Hadn’t wanted to. Martha texted him too. 

_ Please forgive me?  _

He never wrote back. 

He wants to go to sleep. Forget everything. Push it all to the back of his mind. 

Lee’s usually by Cherry Street this time of night. And sure enough, he’s there now. Him and a couple of his buddies. John falls into line in front of him. He can feel his bloodstream coursing on fire. He needs to get this to settle down. To stop spinning out of control. 

He needs his head to no longer be connected to his body. 

He needs to stop ruining every friendship he ever had. 

He’s so tired of being himself. 

“You know for how much,” Lee challenges. And John does. It’s just too much. He’s been taking more lately. And the rates have changed. And he has bills he has to pay. He can’t afford it. Not if he wants to keep going. To make it through the school year. He needs to make sure he can keep going. And he can’t spend too much now. Not yet. 

“I don’t have it,” John replies. The others start laughing. Lee’s face splits into a wide grin. “I...look. Let me…” They start laughing again. John’s vision is turning topsy turvy in his head. He’s so dizzy and so nauseous that he swears he’ll never let it get this bad again. 

Lee’s hand reaches up and touches his face. He’s grinning, and that’s fine. John can do this. He can. He lets Lee tease him. Mock him. Whatever. Say what he wants. He doesn’t care. Just so long as he gets what _ he  _ wants at the end. 

(He wants Lafayette to stop feeling bad. He wants Alex to be his real friend again. He wants Martha to go away…)

Lee pushes him down to his knees. Thumb pressed against his chin. He goes. Willingly. Knew this was coming. It’s fine. It’s all fine. He can’t even muster the strength to cry or feel bad about any of this. He just wants to stop feeling anything at all. 

Sighing, he feels Lee’s friends barricading him in. Keeping this whole mess out of sight so Lee can start fiddling with his zipper. It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s okay. Just a few minutes and then it’ll be over and he’ll get what he wants. 

John’s okay with this exchange. He really is. He just needs to keep his eyes closed, and when it’s over, he can disappear. He wants to badly just to disappear. 

“Seriously,  _ petit lapin _ ?” Someone asks. Too far away to be Lee. It doesn’t stop Lee from pressing his thumb down harder. And John’s heart jumps. Running overtime. “ _ This  _ is what you want?” 

John doesn’t open his eyes. Can’t look up. Can’t see Lafayette or the expression John knows is on his face. He doesn’t want to.


	10. Chapter 10

John’s on his knees in front of Charles Lee, and Lafayette almost walked right on by. Almost let him do whatever the hell it is that people like John do, and forget the whole thing. But Lafayette’s Angry. _Furious_ . John may be an idiot with a drug problem, but even _idiots with drug problems_ were too good for Charles Lee.

“Something you need, Lafayette?” Lee asks. He’s still got John by the chin. Still squeezing it tight. John hasn’t risen. Is still sitting there. Eyes closed and shaking so hard Lafayette can see it twenty spaces away.

Lee’s going to tear John apart. It’s not going to end with a blowjob. It’s going to end violent and rough, and John is going to be in pieces when Lee’s done. He’s going to need more than he’s ever taken to wash Lee off him, and _fuck_ Lee for getting a reputation.

Lafayette’s heard all the stories. Knows he’s a slimey oaf, who takes what he wants even if he doesn’t deserve it.  Roughing up girls and boys so they’re too scared to tell their dorm parents.

Lafayette’s been to parties and watched as Lee found conquest after conquest. It’s a disgusting habit that Lafayette abhors when it’s happening to _strangers_ . When it’s happening to John? Lafayette can physically _feel_ his vision turning red. John’s _his._

Lee doesn’t deserve John on his knees at his feet. Doesn’t deserve John submitting to him.

And _John_ definitely doesn’t deserve Lee and his brand of cruelty.  

Growling low, under his breath, Lafayette steps forward. The two asshole _guards_ brace themselves. _Fuck them._ He punches the one on the right. Backhands the one on the left. His knee drives into Left’s stomach. His heel snaps into Right’s cheek. They fall to the ground and he wastes no time in kicking one, then the other. Blood splatters. Noses break.

 _They’re_ not Lafayette’s problem anymore.

He stalks forward. Advancing on Lee. John’s shoved backwards, and the kid falls. He doesn’t even get up. Just lays half crouched on the ground. Head down and eyes clenched tightly closed.

Lee moves to try to stop Lafayette, but he’s not nearly good enough. Lafayette snatches him by the shirt and sends a fist into his cheek. Again and again and again. He punches until Lee stops struggling. Throwing him to the ground.

John’s only seven paces away. His eyes are _still_ closed, but he’s breathing erratically. Tears falling down his cheeks. Reaching down, Lafayette jerks him to his feet. “What are you thinking, _lapin?_ Hmm? Are you thinking that _prostituting_ yourself will get you what you want?”

Brown eyes open. More tears fall. John’s shaking his head. Trying to speak. But there are no words coming out. His breath’s coming in hitching gasps. He’s not able to catch it. To say anything. His hands scramble for purchase around Lafayette’s wrist, but he doesn’t do much more than that.

The anger racing through Lafayette’s blood has not been satisfied. He’s shaking with it. Desperate to explode at the seams. To lay into someone. Anyone. John’s the only one here, and Lafayette can’t stop himself from snapping, “Do you like this? Getting on your knees for anyone who comes along waving pills in front of your face?” he brings John close. “Is this really what you’ll do just to feel something? To feel alive?” Lafayette shakes the boy. Shakes him hard. John’s head snaps backwards and forwards. A bobblehead jangling on its axis.

“Lemme go,” John manages. Feet sliding underneath him. He tries to break free, but Lafayette’s not going to let him. He drags John. Squeezes John’s shirt between his fingers and jerks him along after him. “Stop— _stop!_ ”

Lafayette stops. Stops just long enough to shove John against the side of the nearest building. Stops long enough to put his hand around John’s throat and squeeze. “Do you like being a whore, _petit lapin?_ Do you like letting men like Lee fuck you?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” John chokes out. He’s crying even harder now. Looking back and forth between Lafayette and the mess on the ground. He looks vaguely sick. Like he can’t believe what’s just happened. Like he doesn’t even _approve_ of the help that Lafayette gave him.

Lafayette grits his teeth. All but spits in John’s face, “Trust me, _petit lapin_ , that’s the last thing that’s going to happen tonight.”

The boy scrambles for his freedom. He doesn’t get it. “I just need it to sleep,” he chokes out. “Okay? I just want it to stop. Please. It’s none of your business. It doesn’t even matter to you. Please just let me go.”

Lafayette squeezes even harder. Shakes John a little to make sure he’s paying attention. John’s sobbing now. His face is wet enough as it is, but it’s positively drenched at this point. “He’s going to _hurt_ you,” Lafayette growls. “Do you understand that?”

John nods his head. Nods, despite the pressure on his throat. Just nods and cries then _shakes_ his head. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Please. It doesn’t matter.”

Lafayette lets him go. Lets him brace himself against the wall. Lets him curl forwards. Arms around his chest. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Do you understand _that?_ Do you really want to die that badly? _”_

“I don’t want to die!”

Lafayette breathes harshly. Grits out his teeth. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“I’m not your _problem!”_

And he’s right. He’s absolutely right. He’s been saying it from the beginning, and Lafayette really should have taken his own advice. Not gotten involved. Treated John like an interesting fuck and not invested any emotional attachment to the boy. His fingers slacken. He nods. “Fine,” he says.

He lets John go.

Tries not to listen as John approaches Lee. As he gets hit again.

He tries to forget the sound of John crying out.

John’s right. This isn’t his problem. And he he shouldn’t get involved. More than that...his presence is _clearly_ unwanted.


	11. Chapter 11

Everything hurts.

By the fifth hit, John’s starting to realize this plan didn’t make any sense. He should have left with Lafayette. Instead...Lee kicks him in the stomach. Lifts him back up. Punches him three times in the head.

_God damn._

John’s seeing stars. He can’t breathe. At any moment he’s going to pass out. And maybe if that happens he just won’t wake up anymore. Alex’ll be sad, but he’ll get over it. He’ll move on. Everyone always does.

Lee stops.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out one pill. He takes John by the jaw and forces him forward. John’s mouth opens with no complaint. No attempt to resist. The pill is placed on his tongue. “I’m never giving you shit again,” Lee tells him. “Find a new dealer.” John doesn’t have time to swallow before he’s slapped across the face. The pill goes flying. Bouncing across the pavement. Curled up on his side, John listens as Lee and his goons march away.

He needs to crawl to reach it. Slowly. With effort. But he does. Picks up the pill, wet and coated with dirt. Brings it to his lips, and swallows it down. Even with the tears streaming down his face and his throat burning. He swallows.

“So.” John flinches at the voice. “Is it worth it?” Looking up, John stares blankly at Lafayette. Standing not too far away. Hands in his pockets. Frowning. John tries to pull his knees under him. But he can’t. Then...Lafayette steps forward. Kneels down and pulls him up. Gets him sitting. “Is it _worth it?”_ he repeats.

John doesn’t have an answer for that. He’s too tired to come up with a response. Lafayette trails his hands up John’s arms. Brings his fingers to trace over John’s lips. “This?” Lafayette asks.

“Just wanna stop,” John tells him. He tips his head forward. Rocks until he falls. Collapsing against Lafayette’s chest. The hand shifts. Cups the back of his skull. “You came...back…”

“I wondered how much you’d take.” So he’d not left then. He’d stayed. Stayed and listened as Lee and his friends beat the hell out of him. John is absurdly grateful that Lee had been more interested in watching him bleed than fucking his mouth. He’s not sure if he could have handled it if Lafayette admitted to watching that and doing nothing. Just watched as—

“—Would you have stopped them?” he asks. Even though he doesn’t really want to know the answer. Lafayette hums.

“Do _you_ want to stop?” John’s head spins at the question. He’s too tired for this. Too sore. Everything’s fading off in the background and he likes that. Likes that feeling of emptiness that replaces everything else.

There are a thousand reasons why stopping wouldn’t work for someone like him. “It hurts,” is at the top of the list.

Lafayette’s hands move. Slide under his body. Lift him up. “You don’t mind the pain.” The pain isn’t what John means. He can take a hit. He can survive the blow.

“I don’t want to think anymore…” then, because he doesn’t have anything better to say. He adds, “You can fuck me if you want.”

Lafayette’s grip on him tightens. “I don’t fuck drug addicts.”

“Didn’t have a problem with it before.” That’s too many words. And he doesn’t think they all came out right. Thinks they slurred. Trailed off. Fallen into oblivion. They’re walking now. Lafayette carrying him so easily that John knows he should be offended. But he can’t bring himself to care. It doesn’t matter. None of it does.

“I didn’t know you were _high,_ ” Lafayette snaps out. “I don’t fuck anyone if they’re _high.”_ Then, quieter, “Do you _want_ me to fuck you?”

A car door opens. He’s being settled inside. Someplace. Somewhere. He knows he should be scared. Knows that Alex would be furious if he found out.

Alex. John doesn’t want to to think about Alex. “I asked,” he mumbled. “You...can...s’okay…”

The car starts. It rocks gently beneath him. A lullaby in its own way.

He hopes Lafayette doesn’t bring him back to Alex. Alex will just take one look at him and start yelling. Yelling like John’s gonna see the light. Demanding John behave for once. Alex should know better by now. Should stop treating sobriety like it’s an option John’s willfully ignoring.

“You like fucking me,” John tells Lafayette after Lafayette doesn’t respond. “I can be good for you. You like it.”

“You want to be good for me?” Lafayette asks. Reaching out and taking John’s wrist in his hand. He squeezes it. Sending jolts of electricity through John’s body. John nods. Stares at the side of Lafayette’s face with wide eyes. “Want to be my pet?”

He can see that. Can see himself on his knees in front of Lafayette. Doing whatever he says. That’d be nice. He could let Lafayette take control. Let him make the choices. Let him just deal with everything else. John’s nodding even as he says, “Lee won’t deal to me anymore… I’m...gonna...crash…” And all this talk won’t mean shit. Because Lafayette won’t want to deal with him like that.

Lafayette doesn’t seem to listen. To notice. Ignores it and presses forward. “How long?” Lafayette asks. “How long are you going to be good for me? Be my pet. My _petit lapin?”_

It seems like a trick question. John shrugs his shoulders. “Until you tell me to go?” he tries. “Until you get tired of me in withdrawal? Until I relapse?”

Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s the way his mind spins. But John’s not sure what to make of the smile crossing Lafayette’s face. Of the sharp tug on his hair that’s used to pull him closer. “You won’t like it,” Lafayette warns. “Being my pet...I’m going to hurt you.”

John’s eyes flutter.  He’s so tired. “I know.”  Everyone always does.

Lafayette nods.

And for the first time — he takes John home.


	12. Chapter 12

John’s high. Lafayette isn’t dumb. He  _ knows _ the boy’s high. That what he’s saying can’t be taken seriously.  It doesn’t change anything. And it won’t change anything for the foreseeable future either. John nods off in the seat next to him, and Lafayette drives them home. 

When he arrives, he gets out of the car. Slams his door shut behind him as hard as he can before walking around to open John’s. The kid actually falls out. Coordination shot to hell as he tumbles into Lafayette’s arms. “S’okay…” John mumbles. Feet sliding about underneath him. Half in the car and half out. 

Dragging John completely away from the vehicle, Lafayette needs to hoist him upright. One arm around his waist. The other hand shutting the door and pulling John’s wrist around Lafayette’s shoulders. Bracing and carrying him to the house. 

The babbling starts almost immediately. “I can be good for you...just watch. Can be so good...what do you want? What do you...I can...you know?” John’s eyelashes are fluttering. He’s out of his head, and Lafayette really can’t bring himself to feel sorry for him. 

Not even when he drags John into his bedroom. Drops him on the bed. Forces his head onto the pillow and pulls his shoes off. A blanket goes around John’s shoulders, and Lafayette undresses. 

Slides into bed next to him. “You’re going to hurt in the morning, petit lapin.” John’s already slipping asleep. Hardly cognizant. Certainly not aware. “You’re going to hurt, and you will have nothing to make it better.” 

One arm around John’s waist. Lips press against John’s ear. “Good luck.” 

The boy’s asleep fully between one heartbeat and the next. He’s small. Very small. Lafayette doesn’t think he’s ever seen John eat anything. He’s seen him drink alcohol. Sure. Every so often he’ll see John with a bottle of beer. He’ll see him holding a poland spring on his way to class. 

But food? It’s like John exists on drugs alone. 

Lafayette rolls over. Starts tapping on his phone. He doesn’t know what he’s doing right  _ now,  _ let alone tomorrow. But he knows that John’s somewhat accepted that he’s not going to be getting drugs in the morning. Which...may or may not be a good thing. 

He fires off a text to Hercules before he could think of a better way to phrase it. And the phone rings almost a minute later. Buzzing between his palms. He spares a glance at John, still sleeping like the dead, then evacuates the bed. Walks to the bathroom across the hall and settles down. 

“Mon ami, usually when one texts, they expect a text back,” he chastises wearily. 

“ _ What do I do with kids who are high?”  _ Hercules recites angrily. _ “ _ In what universe did you think I wasn’t going to call?” 

“This one?” Lafayette rubs at his eyes. It’s been...a long night. “ _ Mon petit lapin  _ is sleeping. I was curious.” 

_ Mon Petit Lapin _ is a mess. But he’s a mess Lafayette doesn’t want to see destroyed. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. Père always said that he needed to know when to quit. Needed to know when enough was enough. 

Hercules might well say the same thing. 

But. 

John’s an addict. An addict who’s only stopping because of a temporary delay. There are other Charles Lees in the world. Other people willing to break John into pieces and take his money and his body in exchange for a few pills. 

John had said he couldn’t sleep without the pills. 

If that’s true...Lafayette needs to know what to do. Because he can’t fix it if he can’t get John asleep. “Okay...Okay slow down. Start over. What’s going on? There’s a kid with you? And he’s high? But he’s asleep?”

“Freshman,” Lafayette clarifies. “From Miss Schuyler’s dorm if I’m not mistaken. Not one of yours.” Mulligan would kill anyone who thought about dealing to one of his kids. A shame John couldn’t have been with an RA capable of dealing with...well. Dealers.

“What’s he on?”

“Pills. They make him tired? Fall asleep?”

“Some kind of downer then. What the hell are you getting yourself into, Gil?” 

There are a million things that Lafayette could say. Excuses he could use, ready to roll off his tongue at a moment’s notice. Making everything logical and orderly. But he’s tired. He’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to explain away something he’s going to forget about in the morning. And John doesn’t need another story made up. 

He need someone who knows what they’re doing and can help. It takes Lafayette almost twenty minutes to explain the story from start to finish. He relishes in dropping Lee’s name as John’s dealer. Knows full well that Hercules can take care of  _ him  _ on his own. John may hate him for it later, but Lee’s decision to cut him off is going to be permanent. 

After a while, Hercules starts explaining right on back. The differences between drugs and what he should be looking out for. Ways to help John as he starts coming down. “He needs to be in rehab, Gil. You can’t just get him sober over the weekend. Especially going cold turkey.” 

“It’s the best we have at the moment, non?” Lafayette asks. 

Hercules grumbles something on the other line. “Just...be careful. Okay?” 

“I will do my very best, mon ami. I always do.”

“Yeah,” Hercules sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about.” 

Wishing Hercules his goodbyes, Lafayette returns to the bedroom. Pauses briefly to look down at John, before adjusting the cover and sliding into bed. He curls up beside John, but sleep is an illusive thing. Staring up at the ceiling, he wonders vaguely where this is even going. What he’s trying to accomplish. Hercules was right - this isn’t something small and simple. This isn’t a one night concern. 

If there are answers on the ceiling, though, Lafayette never finds them. Instead, he closes his eyes, and he goes to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of drug use and ice baths.

John wakes up slow. His head is aching. His mouth is dry. His stomach rolls unhappily. Everything is hurting. His arms. His back. His head. A noise pulls up from his throat. His lungs ache. He can’t breathe.

Sitting up, John struggles to pull in breath. Hands wrap around his arms and hoist him upright fully. He’s nearly bent in half, but the air comes in easier like this. His head stops spinning as badly.

He leans his head against Lafayette’s body. Breathes in and out as best he can. Wheezing occasionally as he tries to focus. He whimpers. Everything hurts. It hurts so bad that he’s certain something must be wrong.

“You should look at yourself in the mirror,” Lafayette tells him. Before hoisting him up. Dragging him and his useless feet to the bathroom. Depositing him in front of a mirror and flicking on a light. It’s too bright. John recoils. Pain splitting his brain. He whimpers. Tries to see something. Anything.

Vision cloudy, it takes far too long before he can finally make out his face. _Hell._ There are bruises coating every inch of skin. Cuts on his brows. On his nose. His throat looks especially raw.

He sags backwards. Lafayette holds him up. “It hurts because _you’re hurt._ ” John’s head lolls back. Exposing his throat to the mirror. Lafayette moves and trails his fingers up John’s body to touch it. “You need to let your body heal. It’s going to hurt.”

He’s right. _Damn it._ He’s right. John closes his eyes. Tries to think. He can get some oxy from Madison. Jefferson too. Even if that’s not his thing. Jefferson would do it. Especially if he finds out Lee beat John up. Better customer service. Better loyalty. It’s not John’s fault Lafayette took on Lee and his buddies.

Jefferson wouldn’t say no. He’d laugh at the thought that Lee got beaten. Would probably give John more just as a ‘thank you’. Jefferson can be nice like that. John’d have to pay for it, of course. But that’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

His head spins. He usually takes a pill first thing. So he doesn’t have to think about everything else. Doesn’t have to feel a thing. Lafayette slowly bends his knees. Pulls him down so they’re both sitting on the floor.

“I’m not letting you drug yourself into oblivion,” Lafayette tells him.

“Fuck you.” John twists. Presses his nose to Lafayette’s chest. It feels good. Nice. Especially when Lafayette tangles a hand in his hair. Tugs it. He bares his teeth. Lafayette laughs. Huffing a little. Hot breath ghosting across his face.

Lafayette shifts. He turns the faucet on the bathtub. John flinches. Opens his eyes and looks down. Squints at the water pouring from the faucet. Even after a few minutes — steam didn’t rise. It’s cold. “Please don’t.”

He speaks the words without any inflection. Can’t quite get the energy to do anything about it. To fight Lafayette if he really intends to do this. “It’ll wake you up. Lower the swelling. Help get you sober.”

“I don’t like being cold.” Not that it matters. Lafayette’ll put him under even if he didn’t want it. He closes his eyes again. Shivering prematurely.

He’s being lifted off Lafayette’s lap. Settled on the tile. His shirt’s pulled up and off. His pants next. John lets himself sit there. Stay still. No arguing. No complaining. Just let it happen. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. He’ll text Madison when Lafayette’s done.

“Lapin,” Lafayette taps his chin. He opens his eyes. Follows Lafayette’s gaze down to John’s chest. _Christ._ He’s bruised. Bruised badly. Chest basically black. Stomach yellow and purple. There are red splotches near John’s groin. “You need ice,” Lafayette tells him quietly. Stroking his hair. “You need to bring down the swelling. This will take minutes. Will cover your whole body. It will be better than a little baggie. _Non?”_

He’s right. He’s right, and John nods his head. Shivering. Struggling to wrap his head around this. He doesn’t like cold showers. Doesn’t like baths in the first place. They’re too much. Too painful. The memory worse than all the bruises on his body.

Lafayette wouldn’t care, though. Wouldn’t understand. It’s not right to make him wait. To make him deal with _that_ on top of _this._ John doesn’t have anything to take instead. Nothing to numb, his body. Help it heal. He nods his grudging consent.

Lafayette settles John on the bottom of the tub. Plugs up the bath’s stopper. Cold water pools. Slowly starts to fill up and up and up. John hisses. Tries to pull away. His head twitches to the left. Legs jerking badly.

Lafayette places his palms on either side of John’s face. Strokes his thumbs over John’s cheeks.

Tears sliding from John’s eyes. “La-Laf…” Lips press against John’s head. Warm and calming. Sweet and gentle.

“Shhhh…..shhhh….lapin. Look. You’re almost done.” John nods. The water rises. Sinks through his skin. Muscles. Bones. Wraps around him. Turning him to ice.

Lafayette’s dark eyes stare down at him. Peering into his soul. “Breathe, Lapin. Breathe.”

John’s head is spinning. He doesn’t want to breathe. He just wants to stop. It’s almost over. It’s almost over. The world expands and condenses. He can feel his lips stretching out into oblivion. He can feel the cold water gripping his very heart and forcing it to slow. His teeth chatter. The skin on his arms bubbles up with goose-flesh.

He tries to sleep. Let it all go. It’s what he always does when everything’s a bit too much. Sleep it off. Pretend it doesn’t exist. It’ll all go away in the end eventually.

It doesn’t work. The water is too cold. He’s going to freeze to death. He’s going to— he’s going to—

Lafayette lifts him up. Cold water drips from his body and onto the floor. Something warm wraps around him. Dries him. Keeps him warm. Finally, at long last— he can breathe.


	14. Chapter 14

Lafayette wraps John up in a thick blanket. Holds him close and carries him back to the bedroom. John’s a limp weight in his arm. He’s shaking. Mumbling under his breath. John’s teeth chatter. But that’s fine. It won’t change a thing. “Lay down,” Lafayette tells John. 

The kid’s shaking like a leaf. But that’s okay. It’s normal. He’s cold. He’s coming down. They’re going to be at this for days. Lafayette leaves him there. Runs downstairs to get him a cup of tea. He fixes it together in only a few minutes. Returns to find John leaning half off the mattress. Reaching for something on the floor. 

Lafayette picks it up. A cell phone. “Someone you need to contact?” Lafayette asks. He hadn’t thought of friends or family who’d worry if John didn’t show up. Hadn’t considered John had any. It’d make sense though. Made sense in a way that made Lafayette a touch uncomfortable. 

“Mads’ll give me some…” John murmurs. Flopping on his back and staring at the ceiling. “S’top it all…” 

“The point is to get you sober, lapin.” 

“Sobriety never lasts.” It’s said with the kind of finality that makes Lafayette shake his head. 

“If that were true, then  _ no _ one would survive using.” Placing the mug on the bedside table, Lafayette reaches over and hauls John upright. His body goes easily. Shifting and adjusting until he leans back against the headboard. 

John’s eyes close. He slumps his shoulders. Elongates his throat. The bruises have gotten darker since the night before. They stood out in the bath. And now, they ring about John’s neck like ink. Lafayette doesn’t doubt that John is in pain. Doesn’t doubt that John wants to get the edge off. He’d been beaten bloody and left in an alley with only one pill as a joking offer for help. 

All things considered, Lafayette has to wonder what was even in that pill to begin with. What the dosage was. Once he took it, John had been out like a light. Slurring and limp. It hadn’t been the reaction Lafayette had expected. His experience with drugs always made him imagine mania. Hysteria. Something more than...exhausted slumber. 

But John’s awake now. Awake and spreading his legs invitingly. He even hums as Lafayette moves. Straddling John’s hips to give him what he wants. He sinks down low and gentle. Still drawing a grating hiss from John’s lips as he adjusts. John’s grimaces and twists a little. Opening his eyes to watch Lafayette move. 

Slowly, Lafayette lifts his hands. Pins John’s shoulders back, smirking as John goes willingly. From the first day they met, John’s willingness had always been offset by a fire. A fire that burns bright behind his dark brown eyes. A flicker of challenge warning Lafayette that behind his complacency, there was a fight to be had. His submission was an offering. A gesture. It wasn’t permanent. “Breathe with me,” Lafayette orders. 

John breathes in. Breathes out. They keep breath in tandem. And John’s whimpering starts to subside into something slightly more languid. Lafayette lets his weight sink. Pressing John to the bed and holding him in place. 

The whole while, Lafayette watches for those flickering flames. Watches for those moments when he can see the fire burning out from the depths of John’s soul. John’s moans are like an untapped orchestra of talent. Bright and musical. Filling the air with the most intoxicating noises. Burning desperation that lays savage waste to Lafayette’s control. 

He reaches a hand up. Gives a careful tug on John’s hair. Grins when the moan becomes more drawn out. Elongated. 

John’s skin may feel like ice now, but deep in his core - John’s on fire.  And last night had almost snuffed it out completely. “Breathe with me,” he commands again when John’s lungs don’t expand in a timely manner. When John just stares up at him. Shivering. 

He reaches for the tea. Brings it to John’s lips. “Drink,” he orders. John opens his mouth. Spreads his lips. Lets Lafayette gently tip the mug back. Guide the tea down his throat. “You’re going to get sober,” Lafayette tells him. 

John keeps drinking. Swallowing the tea down. Lafayette lets him breathe. “Why do you even care?” John asks. 

It’s a question Lafayette’s been asking himself for a long time now. A question he can’t seem to set straight in his head. One that makes him settle the mug on the bedside table to extend their timeframe. Give him more to work with. He sighs. Shakes his head. “You have a very unique mind petit lapin. I’m curious. I want to see what you’re like when you’re not high.” 

The fire’s back. 

And it’s raging. Consuming everything in its wake. John’s quick to please, but equally quick to anger. He runs on emotional highs and lows and they come without warning. Without understanding. 

“You’re getting me sober because you’re  _ curious?”  _ John hisses. Lafayette wonders if there’s anything to say that  _ won’t _ make this worse. 

No. Probably not. John’s opinion is made and his reaction will stay that way until he’s satisfied. Until the raging storm has passed. 

“Yes.” 

John’s hands clench. Lafayette’s fought him countless times by now. Relished in the feel and sensation of his fists and his body thrashing and fighting against him. He’s sparred in alleys. He’s fucked in the dark. He’s gotten to know each and every one of John’s unique and particular quirks. 

Lafayette can count them off easily. John’s capable of taking enormous punishment. John has little actual  _ skill,  _ but has enough strength to barrel through most attacks. John’s determined. He’s ruthless. 

But most importantly: John can be fast when he wants to be. 

Sometimes unfairly so. 

Pain explodes along Lafayette’s cheek. His head is thrown to the side. His body only moments after. He feels as though he’s stretching on to infinity, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. Fire’s done what fires do best.  _ Burn.  _

_ Damn it all to hell.  _


	15. Chapter 15

Blankets tangle around John’s legs. He falls. Crashes to the floor. Blinding pain coursing through his body. Bruises suddenly _alive._ Ribs creaking. Torso is aching. A strangled groan spirals about his throat. Tears well in his eyes.

Lafayette’s making noise. _Fuck him._ It doesn’t matter. John drags his hands across the floor, kicking the blanket off him. Cold air winds around his naked flesh. He _hurts._ His body is screeching. His teeth grind down.

Vision blurring. Head spinning. Nausea rises up his esophagus. He tries to swallow it back. Fails. It bubbles up and out. Spewing out onto the floor. John coughs. Gags. I _t’s not fair. None of this is fair. Fuck him._

Lafayette’s recovered. He’s back. Hoisting John up into the bathroom once more. Throwing him down in front of the toilet. Another wave of sick surges and John coughs. Vomits again. Lafayette leaves him alone. Doesn’t say a word.

That’s fine. John can’t spare him any more thoughts.

Everything feels like cotton. Cotton set on fire. Choking, hot, cold, and slowly fizzling away to nothingness. He rests his head against porcelain. Tries to breathe in again. Coughs, as lingering bits of bile get all mixed up in his throat.

A hand tangles in his hair. A red solo cup is brought to his lips. His head’s pulled back. The cup is tilted over. He takes a mouthful. “Swish and spit,” he’s commanded. John does as he’s told. The hand directing his head back over the toilet.

Rinse and repeat. Over and over again.

Finally—he’s released. Lafayette sits down across from him. Waiting for John to make his move.

The anger that came so hot, so fast, feels foreign now. Lingering on the outsides of his consciousness. John shakes his head. Squeezes his eyes shut. Shivers badly. Everything hurts. “I’m not….gonna be some _experiment_ for you,” he gets out anyway.

Lafayette actually has the audacity to snort. Roll his eyes. “Just because I’m curious, does not mean that it doesn’t help you.”

“Help me?” John laughs. “Do you have _any_ idea what this is going to be like? How much this is going to be a _bitch_ because _you_ got curious? Fucking leave it alone, man. I’m not your Goddamned problem.” Lafayette’s frowning at him. Eyes narrowed and brows raised.

“If I let you go, what will you do? Hm? Lapin? Will you go to another dealer? As you say. This...Mads? Go there, get on your knees. Let him bend you over. Whore yourself out? Is that what you will do?”

No. Not for Mads. Mads wouldn’t do that to him. He’d either tell him ‘no’, or, more likely, give him what he wants. That’s how Mads works. Mads is better than Lee. He’s his friend. He cares. Gets worried if John doesn’t check in. Mads wouldn’t do that. He _wouldn’t_. “What do you even care?” John asks. Because that’s the only thing that matters here. Mads is irrelevant.

“I _care_ because I do happen to have a conscience, once in awhile.” Lafayette stretches his legs out. Lifts his arms in the air. Tilts left and right. Spine stretching. The red mark on his cheek has started to dot purples and green. Good. John hopes it hurts.

“No that’s not it. You’re mad because I was gonna suck Lee off. Let his friends fuck me if they wanted to. That’s what’s got you riled up.” John shifts. Crawls so he can bracket his knees on either side of Lafayette’s body. He rolls his groin forward. “You think you’re the only one I fuck?” John asks him. “You think I don’t just get off with you, then go out and find the next poor slob willing to pound me in my ass just to make my head stop spinning?”

“I think you’re full of shit, lapin.” Lafayette’s teeth form a savage grin. “I think you like playing pretend. Tell me, do you whine on your livejournal about how terrible your life is? Complain about the darkness and how the drugs are the only way out?”

John goes to punch him again. Lifts his fist and sees his target. He wants to punch Lafayette’s stupid smirking face until it disappears under a mess of blood. Wants flesh torn away and brown skin to shatter.

He doesn’t get the chance. Lafayette surges forward. Shifting the balance. Sending John’s weight backwards. He hits the ground, and Lafayette’s on top of him. Pinning him with ease. Wrists trapped and motionless. “You want to fight someone, lapin, then I’m happy to fight you. If that’s what you’re looking for. But you’ll need to _ask._ ”

Then he’s gone. John throws himself to his feet. Fingers tapping. Head still spinning. He sways dangerously. Almost thinks he’s going to pass out right in front of him. But instead, he catches it. Rests one hand against the wall. Breathes in. Breathes out. Scowls at Lafayette. “Why are you doing this, _petit lapin?_ ”  

“Because,” he starts. “I happen to think you could be worthwhile when you’re not whoring yourself to drug dealers and swallowing pills from the ground someone pissed on.”

Tears prick at John’s eyes. That’s not fair. His head was going to explode. Is threatening to do that right this second. Lafayette doesn’t get to judge him. He doesn’t get an opinion. He doesn’t _understand_.

Lafayette captures John’s chin between his fingers. A mockery of how Lee held him the night before. John hates it. Wants to pull away. “I want you sober because I want _you_ . Prove to me you can be sober, and I’ll make sure you get your _precious_ sleep. That your head stops spinning. That this pain,” he motions with disgust at John’s body. The expression a physical _wound._ “Stops.” Tears are falling full force now.

John sags forward. Energy depleted. This is going to hurt so much. He’s going to hate this.

He agrees anyway.

He doesn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he can say no.


	16. Chapter 16

John’s energy comes in waves. And his exhaustion is a symptom of something Lafayette can’t explain. When John starts spoiling for a fight, Lafayette does the only thing he _can_ do. Convince his friend to go for a run instead. At least running doesn’t lead to a hospital visit.

They eat something light, then they get going. John’s eyes fixed on the horizon. His breath coming out in short gasps. He stops frequently. Dizzy and overbalanced. Sweat pouring from his skin. He throws up again. Bracing his knees as he chokes. But each time, he gets back up.

Glaring if Lafayette offers to help. So instead, Lafayette keeps his eyes on John’s back. Monitors him as he moves. Makes sure they’re just going through the steps. That John’s not actually in any danger.

When John stumbles for the fourth time. It takes him too long to get up again. So Lafayette reaches down. Pulls him onto his back, and starts walking home. John’s fevered brow touches the back of his neck. His arms drape over Lafayette’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” John whispers nonsensically. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can keep—I can keep going. I can—”

“We’re going back to the house. And you’re going to eat something, and you’re going to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep. Can’t. I—I can’t.” John’s shaking so hard that Lafayette wonders if he’ll vibrate off Lafayette’s back. Fall over and shake apart on the ground too.

He pushes open his back door. Brings John to the bathroom. Settles him there, then goes to get more tea. Crackers. Apple sauce. Things that have calories and are good for the body, that won’t upset John’s stomach too much. He gets a blanket too. Fixes it altogether, and returns to find John leaning over the edge tub.

Cold water running streaming down his face. He looks up. Lafayette trails the back of his fingers over John’s cheeks. John’s teeth are chattering. But his skin is actually _burning._ Carefully, Lafayette helps John undress. Helps ease him into the shower. Hold him upright as he flicks the valve and lets the cold spray wash over John’s body. He turns the nozzle. Not _ice_ cold, but teetering on the edge with warm. John doesn’t need to freeze. He just needs to level out.

“You should fuck me…” John murmurs softly.

“Will that make it better?” Lafayette asks. He runs his hand down to John’s groin. Cups his dick and balls within his palm. Shields it from the spray.

“Yeah.”

Lafayette hums. Flicks the knob. The water stops, and they stand together. Rocking. Side to side.  It’s a comforting weight, a familiar sensation. John resting in Lafayette’s arms, but that’s temporary. It won’t last.

He leans down and presses his lips to John’s throat. Starts trying to explain, “You don’t need to have sex with me to—”

“—If you finish that sentence I’m gonna sit.” Lafayette snorts. Can imagine John doing just that. Letting his legs collapse underneath him so he’s crumpled on the floor. Belligerent in the only way he can.

Kissing John’s head, Lafayette lifts him up and out of the tub. Walks him to the bedroom and splays him out on the bed. He trails his fingers up and down John’s body. Ghosts over bruises that still sit too dark and too fresh on John’s skin.

“They would have fucked you in that alley,” Lafayette muses. He scratches his nails into John’s skin. And John arches into the touch. Doesn’t shy away.

“Least it wasn’t _our_ alley,” John muses right on back. Shivering until Lafayette drags the comforter over their bodies. The kid’s ridiculous. Smiling with his teeth even as he wriggles under Lafayette’s thighs.

There are one-hundred and one ways this goes wrong. And Lafayette ignores each one of them. He leans down. Kisses John’s lips. Feels the bruised flesh beneath him. “Yes, you’re far more attractive being fucked over a dumpster than on your knees in front of Lee.”

“We could do it again?” John bucks his hips up. Batting his eyes. “Go into that alley…”

“Find you a score?”

John flinches. Directs his gaze to the left. “I’m gonna relapse,” he murmurs. “All this. All this isn’t worth it. You get that right?” John presses his hands to his face. “I’m gonna relapse. Get back on drugs. Get back on my knees in some alley, and what does it matter? What would have been the point of going through all of this?”

Lafayette hums. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s going to relapse and this will have been a waste of his time. His energy. But John hasn’t relapsed yet. Hasn’t left everything else by the wayside so he can go after the high one more time. “If you do, then I won’t help you again,” Lafayette says. “I’ll let you do what you like. You’ll have made that choice.”

John’s body falls surprisingly still beneath Lafayette’s. His dark eyes turn and look up. They meet each other’s gazes. “I’ll leave you to suck Lee’s dick,” Lafayette continues. “Leave you to get fucked however you like. To take whatever you want.” He strokes John’s face. There’s tears in his eyes again. “You have one chance, John Laurens. And I’m going to _bother_ with you just this once. After that? If you insist on using those drugs. In dirtying yourself to chase a high? Then you can do that. And I won’t stop you. I’ll walk away.”

He leans down and kisses John’s lips. But then he rolls over. Collects the food and drink from where they’d been abandoned before the shower. Brings them back. Settles them by John’s side. “Eat,” he states firmly.

John reaches for a cracker and bites down. He doesn’t say a word. Eats the cracker slowly and methodically. Staring at something in the middle distance. Expression blank. Body tightly coiled.

But it doesn’t matter. Lafayette nods. Then leaves him to think.

John’s got a choice to make, and Lafayette has no intention of interfering.


	17. Chapter 17

Lafayette leaves to go to class Monday morning. John can’t bring himself to get out of bed. His body still hurts. Muscles contracting and tightening so much that no amount of showers - hot or cold - seem to be doing anything for him. 

He curls under the blankets. Fevers coming and going so fast that he’s a ship lost in a hurricane. Dragging himself from the bed to the bathroom whenever it gets too bad. Curling up by the toilet so he can throw up. Barely managing to get back to the bed before the process starts back up again. 

His phone sits on the bedside table. The battery’s dead. But it doesn’t matter. The principle of the thing lives on.  _ Choose.  _ Lafayette wanted him to  _ choose.  _ But there’s no choosing in any of this. 

John’s never had a choice. Not when his mother died. Not when his father moved him out of the house. Not when he lost whatever relationship he could have had with Samantha and Marty...Not with Martha. Not with Alex. He doesn’t have a choice. He never did.

He’d said yes everytime, and yes ever since. Lafayette’s right. He doesn’t know what he wants. Just knows that he’s tired. Tired of everything, and he’d be really happy if wanting it all to stop actually  _ meant  _ that everything stopped. 

His head hurts. His body aches. And when he has time to think, it just makes everything that much worse. ‘Why’ circles about on an endless loop.  _ Why am I here? Why isn’t anything working? Why am I such a mess? Why can’t I do this one thing right?  _

It’s crushing in its realism. 

He’s exhausted by it. He wants that to stop too. 

John pulls his knees to his chest. Pain, sharp and stabbing, gripping his stomach tight. He gasps. Tears coming once more. He’s always crying these days. Crying one moment, laughing the next. He’s falling apart. 

Losing his mind. He’s gasping for air. Struggling to hold on. His hands squeeze his head tight. Pushing against it until he imagines it popping like a watermelon. Smashed to smithereens. Red juice staining Lafayette’s white pillows. 

It’d be rude to do that to Lafayette. Considering how nice he’s been. 

_ (“Why are you such a bother…”) _

John flinches. Twists away. The door opens and he scrambles back. Shadows dancing in front of his vision. He gasps. Heaves in air. Lifts one hand to ward the monster off. 

Only...it’s not a monster. It’s Lafayette. Lafayette, who sighs and walks around the bed. Who crawls in behind John and draws John to his chest. Who squeezes his body close and let’s John collapse against him. Shut his eyes. Shiver into the tight brace of Lafayette’s arms. 

“Breathe in,” Lafayette tells him. “Breathe out.” John does as Lafayette says. Forces himself to relax. To fall boneless against him. “Breathe in...breathe out…” 

John tries to listen. Tries to do it right. He’s so tired of pissing everyone off. Of being abandoned. Of being left behind. He’s so tired of making his friends leave. Forcing Alex to take care of him when he’s too exhausted to get out of bed. When all he wants to do is stop giving them problems. 

He just wants to do this one thing. Lafayette hasn’t asked him to do anything else. Just stop the drugs. 

Just. Stop. 

As if stopping is something that’s so easy. So insignificant. So small. As if John can snap his fingers and let it all just drift away. As if Alex hadn’t been begging him for that for months.. As if Alex hasn’t been trying to get him to stop from the moment he found out. From the moment John stumbled into his dorm room and collapsed in his bed. Too strung out to move. Feeling like finally... _ finally  _ he can sleep and not dream. 

Stop. 

It’s a small word for a problem that John can’t even explain in one sentence. A small word that’s not small at all. It’s a lot. And it hurts. It hurts so badly. He’s trying. He’s trying. But it hurts. 

Lafayette kisses him. “Breathe in,” he continues. “Breathe out.” John breathes. Shaking violently. Nodding his head. He can do this. He can. He does what Lafayette asks. He gets a kiss. His body is being rearranged on the bed. All the sore spots are rubbed out. Soothing circles spiraling about his limbs. Pushing the inflammation away from his joints. 

He breathes in. He breathes out. He can do this. This is simple. This is okay. He can do this. He can. “Good. You’re doing good.” 

Lafayette brings his hands up and down. Massages everyplace there is to massage. Applying weight to John’s back. Barricading him in. Blocking the rest of the world out. “You’re doing good.  _ Tu es bon, lapin. Tu es bon.” _

He doesn’t feel like he’s doing good. He feels like he’s falling apart. He feels like he’s such a mess. “Why  _ lapin?”  _ He asks. Lafayette just hums. Doesn’t elaborate. “Sex crazed fiend?” he tries.

“If you like,” Lafayette doesn’t elaborate. But John wonders what else it could mean. Small and tiny and always running away from his problems? Well. He’s not wrong. John shivers again. 

Lafayette nuzzles John’s hair. Kisses his jawline. Then he makes his way down. Kissing John’s collarbone. His stomach. His hips. “Shall I treat you like a rabbit then? John Laurens?” And John arches into his touch. Feels himself starting to angle his body into the soothing slide of Lafayette’s fingers. 

The distraction is nice. Pleasant and necessary. A shining piece of goodness that wraps around him. He feels  _ right.  _ The pain is ever pleasant, but it doesn’t matter as much. Because offsetting each sharp sting of agony is a gentle caress. A kiss. Affection.

For the first time in years, John makes only one request. A request that makes Lafayette look up at him, and smile. So John says it again. “Please...Laf...Don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t.


	18. Chapter 18

There’s a ferocious knocking at the door downstairs. It’s pounding on and on. Harder and harder. Lafayette wakes up. Turns to look down at John — sleeping soundly for the first time since this mess began. He’s sleeping soundly still. Head turned to the side. Breathing deeply. Bruises just starting to heal at long last. 

The knocking hasn’t stopped. It keeps going. Louder and louder.  _ Incessantly _ . Lafayette slips out from under the blankets. Draws the comforter up to John’s chin and tucks him in close. He trails a finger through John’s curls. Takes note of the even breaths and the steady pulse that’s thrumming solidly in John’s throat. 

Lafayette stands. Leaves the bedroom and descends the stairs. Tugging on a t-shirt and fixing his jeans into place as he walks. His skin tingles for the thought of John. For the thought of lying beside him and relishing in his heat. His contact. His words as they ghost across Lafayette’s skin. 

He wants to go back into that room and drape himself over John’s body. Not move until John needs to rise. Not think of anything at all except John and getting him through the next few hours. 

He pulls the door open, and stares. The kid in front of him is even smaller than John. Long black hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail. Eyes wild and crazed. He’s pale as a ghost. Clothes old and ragged. He was shouting about  _ something  _ before Lafayette opened the door, and he doesn’t seem bothered to restart his tirade from the beginning. Just keeps barreling on. 

“—in here! Where is he?!” Lafayette blinks. Opens his mouth. Frowns. 

“What?” he asks. The kid draws breath like a syringe pulling blood. He opens his mouth, draws it deep, then spews. 

“John Laurens. My  _ best friend _ has been missing for  _ four days  _ and I’ve been looking for him  _ everywhere _ , you narcissistic twat. And  _ three  _ people have all said that they saw  _ you  _ take him home. So where the  _ fuck  _ is he?” 

Lafayette takes a step back. Widens the door so the kid can march inside. He’s everywhere in moments. Looking about the living room like John’s going to appear out of thin air. Lafayette shuts the door and the kid whips about. “Where is he? What the  _ fuck  _ did you do to him?”

The kid’s got some pluck to him, Lafayette will give him that. But there’s only so much more he’s going to listen to the boy snap and snarl at him. “You’re being rather presumptuous,” he growls out. 

“ _ Presumptuous?  _ Presumptuous? Are you kidding me? It’s been nearly a week! You can’t just kidnap someone and not expect their family to freak out!” 

“I didn’t  _ kidnap  _ John Laurens.” 

“Then why didn’t he call? Where the fuck is he?” The kid’s on the move. Marching out of the room and heading toward the kitchen. He looks around, opening cupboards and drawers as if John had been chopped up into tiny pieces and scattered about the house. 

As if his thumbs would be sitting in the fridge next to the butter. 

The boy slams the door closed and then shoulders passed Lafayette. Stomping to the basement door and marching down the stairs. Lafayette follows him. Feeling his temper start to flare as the kid examines the space. He  _ still  _ hasn’t shut up. “Who are you anyway?” The kid asks. “What kind of name is ‘Lafayette’? Like. Literally no one knows your first name. I know. I tried to find out. And everyone just kept saying you’re ‘Lafayette’. I mean, the accent is French. So there’s that. But that’s not enough to explain your mysterious upbringing. What are you, some kind of dealer?” 

“Considering  _ you’re  _ the one in my house, maybe you should tell me  _ your  _ name,  _ chaton. _ ” 

_ “Je m'appelle Alexander Hamilton _ ,” the boy spits back. “Are you even French? You sound French.” 

“ _ Oui, Parlez-vous français?” _

_ “Oui,”  _ Alex crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you dealing to John?” 

Lafayette scowls. Goes to answer, but Alex is already moving past him. Determined to inspect every part of his house. It’s getting absurd. “I’m not dealing anything to him.”

“Right. Because John makes so many friends these days who _ aren’t  _ interested in dealing to him.” 

“I was interested in his  _ ass,”  _ Lafayette spits out. Alex stops. Whirls about. 

“If you had sex with him while he was high that’s  _ rape.”  _ Alex marches forward. Face flushed. Hands raised. He’s going to fight him on this. Actually  _ fight  _ him for his friend’s honor. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t so ridiculous. 

Lafayette takes a deep breath. Considers how upset John would be if he did something to his little friend. Decides it’s worth it. 

Reaching out, he snatches the boy by the shirt and shoves him bodily into the wall. He lets his hand slip up. Fingers wrap around Alex’s throat. He squeezes. Leans in close. Is fully prepared to say something, but something on Alex’s face makes him stop. Mouth falling open in surprise. 

Alex’s eyes are wide, but his head’s tipping back. A  _ moan  _ actually lifts up from his mouth. He’s practically pliant beneath Lafayette’s grip, and isn’t that an interesting thing to know about John’s  _ best friend?  _

He grins. “ _ Petit chaton  _ you and  _ mon petit lapin  _ have so much in common don’t you?” Alex’s eyes flutter as Lafayette squeezes harder. Brings his body closer to Alex’s. Leans down to whisper in his ear. “Your John is right upstairs.” Then he lets Alex go. “Follow me.” 

Alex needs a moment. He stares at Lafayette with such a confusing mix of blissed euphoria and confusion that Lafayette can’t help but snort. 

He holds out his hand. Takes Alex by the fingers, and leads. Walking him up to his bedroom where he opens the door and shows Alex what he’s been so desperate to see. 

John, sleeping peacefully in his bed, not unharmed, but certainly not worse for wear. Alex blinks. Rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. “Oh.” 

“Yes. Oh.” 


	19. Chapter 19

“Well what was I supposed to think?” 

“That your friend was here willingly?” 

“Well he’s never done this before.” 

“This being?” 

“I don’t know!  _ This!”  _

John’s eyes roll under his lids. He mumbles. Feels his lids fluttering. There’s a hand stroking his hair. Another hand gripped around his palm. He finally looks up. Stares at Alex’s familiar face. He’d have smiled, if reality didn’t hit him immediately. Alex. Here. In Lafayette’s house. 

Which means…

_ Fuck.  _

“You should eat, lapin," Lafayette says shortly. John winces. Lafayette sounds...mad. Carefully pushing himself upright, John looks between them. Doesn’t even know where to start. Or what to say to Alex. 

_ Especially  _ while Alex keeps shooting Lafayette dirty looks. His closest friend takes a deep breath in. Lets it out. Runs a hand through his hair, before forcing a smile. "How are you feeling?" He asks. Not even a warble.

There are no more synonyms for 'bad'. John's used them all. He shrugs vaguely. Assumes that that speaks for itself.

It does. Alex smiles at him. Pats his arm gently. His hand slips into John's, and they walk together down the stairs to Lafayette's kitchen. For a moment, John can't recognize it. Can't piece it together with the image that's already set firmly in his mind.

There are groceries stacked here and there. Various baking goods and ingredients. Lafayette doesn't have a sweet tooth. At least, not that John knows of. He seems to be one of those health-nuts actually. Fruit and vegetables carefully arranged on the counter and in his fridge. He doesn't hoard his non-perishables. Instead, Lafayette is one of those strange people who goes shopping for fresh meat every day rather than letting it stack up.

Alex, however, is guilty of baking non-stop. This has his thumb print all over it. Especially when John's directed to sit down while Alex gets him something to eat. It's a bizarre and unusual turn of events that makes John's head spin. He rubs at his temples. The headache that's been plaguing him since Friday night is gone. Replaced, instead, by a kind of awareness that comes unexpected and cruel. Like stepping out of the fog and not knowing where you are.

The numb wrapper that contained his brain has been stripped away. Freeing neurons to fire appropriately without a chemical reason to slow down. The lights seem, suddenly, too bright. The floor, too solid. His stomach rolls about, and John isn't even sure if he could eat whatever confectionary Alex seems determined to make. He'll probably throw it up. "Mm too sick for this..." he mumbles.

"You ever hear of a BRAT diet?" Alex asks him instead. John has, but he can't remember the acronym. Isn't sure he particularly  _ wants  _ to at this point. Not that it matters. Alex keeps talking. "Bananas, Rice, Apples, and Toast." Alex snatches an apple from Lafayette's fruit bowl and sets it down in front of him.

It's a Red Delicious, and John truly never saw an apple he wanted to eat less. There's a pause in the kitchen. A moment when nobody moves. Then, Alex huffs. Snatches the apple back. He turns on his heel. Opens drawer after drawer until he finds what he's looking for. A knife. Less than two minutes later, Alex has sliced the apple into sections. Cored it so that the last bit of  _ apple  _ has been preserved. Seeds tossed into the trash. The apple is returned to John with a great show of gusto and pizzazz.

John thinks Alex is more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, but doesn't complain. He reaches gingerly for a slice of apple, and brings it to his lips. He honestly doesn't have the strength to fight Alex on this. If he throws up, then he throws up. He'll deal with it then. Just like he deals with everything else.

Clearly satisfied, Alex turns his attention back to the baking supplies. He steals some of Lafayette's bananas. Mushes them into a bowl that he mixes with flour. There's water involved. A bit of cinnamon. Alex has his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Tucked into the corner of his lips while he stirs.

One slice down, another seven to go, John swallows thickly. Reaches for the next piece. He knows he needs to eat. Knows that he has to feed himself somehow. That starving himself is only going to make this process worse. But the nausea keeps coming in intermittent waves, and John's ready for it all to stop now. Please and thank you.

Something shifts behind him. He turns and frowns as Lafayette appears. A sweatshirt in one hand. A blanket in the other. He tosses it at John, and John catches it full in the face. Unable to bring his hands up in time. Fabric slides down over his face and into his lap. Eventually flopping to the floor.

John reaches for it, though. Winces as his bruised ribs announce their continued protest. He hadn't noticed how cold he was until the idea of wrapping up was presented. Now, he's grateful for the extra layers. Tugs it on without complaint. Even scoots forward in his chair so Lafayette can wrap the blanket around his shoulders more firmly.

Alex is watching out of the corner of his eye. He's not a good liar. He wears his emotions on his face so blatantly that it's half the reason John avoids him when he's high. He doesn't want to see the disappointment on Alex's face.

He’s so tired of being a disappointment. So tired of feeling bad because he’s hurt Alex somehow. He misses the tender affection where Alex had just been his friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. "How did you find me?" he asks quietly. 

Lafayette snorts.

Alex's fingers tighten around his spoon. Disappointment replaced sharply by fierce agitation. "Yes, John. We  _ should _ talk about that, shouldn't we?" he asks. John licks his lips. Wishing he never brought it up in the first place.


	20. Chapter 20

Hercules asks how things are going. The text chimes in just as the timer on Alex's banana bread goes off. Lafayette tosses Alex a set of oven mitts before stepping out of the room. Trailing his fingers over John's shoulders as he passes. Lafayette can feel the way John's eyes follow him as he leaves the room. He offers the kid a smile before disappearing completely.

Texting one handed, Lafayette gives a brief synopsis of the situation thus far. He isn't surprised when his phone rings. "It is like _déjà vu, mon ami_ ," he teases. Bringing the phone to his ear.

"John Laurens? That's the kid you're helping?" Lafayette settles down on his bed. Leans back to stare at the ceiling. He hadn't given John's name. Hadn't even given Alex's. But from what little he _had_ provided, clearly it was enough. He wonders what it was that tipped Hercules off.

His description of Alex had been _annoying young freshman with a big mouth who's going to get himself into trouble one day._ He'd thought that covered a vast number of the underclassmen, but clearly Hercules already had the right one in mind.

"I take it you know him."

"Alex is in my dorm," Hercules explains. "He's John's best friend. I see John over here a lot. Getting worse by the week. He's a good kid. How'd you meet him?" Lafayette makes a vague noise and lets Hercules work it out from there. He isn't interested in gossip. No matter what form it comes in.

If he listens closely, Lafayette can hear the sound of Alex talking downstairs. It's good. Having him here. Talking to John. It gets John out of his head. Makes him easier to move about. With the drugs slowly getting out of John's system, having Alex serve as a distraction seems to be the best choice right now. Even if it means Lafayette needs to deal with _two_ freshmen in his house. He'll take it.

Which actually leads him to his next thought. "How did things go with Lee?" His friend takes ages to answer. Sighing dramatically. Hercules can get his feathers so ruffled when he wants to. If the man didn't want to be associated with gang violence, perhaps he shouldn't flaunt his ability to handle _situations_ when they arose.

"Lee's not going to be a problem for a while. The school found out he was dealing on campus. Caught him in the act. Pills and all. He's going to be expelled." Lafayette hums.

"What a tragedy."

"Just taking out one person isn't going to set everything right, you know that don't you? I get what you're doing for John, but it's on him to handle this mess himself. He's the one that needs to _want_ to get sober. Otherwise...he'll find someone else. And he won't tell you about it."

That's fine by Lafayette. He'd told John as much. Will tell Hercules as much right now. "I won't want to hear it." If John wanted to spurn everything Lafayette's doing for him, then that's John's choice. And John's a big boy. Despite calling him a _kid,_ Lafayette's fully aware of the fact John's an adult. Actions have consequences, and John's been warned about the consequences of _that_ particular action.

It's Hercules who actually sounds disgusted, though. Hercules who makes an outraged sound that Lafayette hasn't heard in awhile. Hasn't heard since Justin LeBlanc was given a surprise second chance on Project Runway. _You don't understand Gil,_ he'd said back then.   _You don't get second chances in life._ "That's not realistic," Hercules says now. "He's going to stumble. And what? You're not going to help him? You're going to let him fall on his face?"

Something shifts down below. Chairs scooting about. Alex is probably doing something that Lafayette will vaguely disapprove of. It doesn't matter. He scowls. "John's sobriety is not my problem."

"You _made_ it your problem when you took him home. When you called me—"

"—I _texted_ you. _You_ called—"

"— _when you called me_ and asked what you were supposed to do. So don't give me this line of bullshit."

"I thought you didn't believe in second chances?"

"That kid needs help, Gil. If you're not going to give him _help_ then do him a favor and get him to someone who _will_ and back off before you make things worse."

“He's sober now. He's not using now. Why would he go back to them if he's sober? He's fine. If he starts using again, it's because he doesn't want to be sober, and that's not going to change the next time I come around. "

His friend sighs. Lafayette can imagine him rubbing his temples. Shaking his head. Pacing even. They don't disagree about a lot, but when they do...they do. "I hope for John's sake that he's strong enough to not go back, then. Because if he ever does—I doubt he's going to come out of it very well." There's a pause. A slight hesitation, and then Hercules huffs again. Voice catching breath as he tilts the phone away from his mouth. The sound starting loud and tapering off.

Lafayette sits up. Looks around the room and listens to the sounds downstairs. There's a laugh. It's not Alex. That's good. It's very good. Hercules' opinion hardly mattered anymore. Especially not with John slowly starting to emerge from whatever cave he'd put himself into.

The boy at the bar who'd been spoiling for a fight had been a force to be reckoned with even then. Once John moved away from the drugs that were tearing him down? He'd fly. He just needed to see that he'd be fine on his own. And Lafayette could do that.

"I'm not going to spend the rest of my life trying to help someone who doesn't want it," Lafayette tells Hercules.

"Then you shouldn't have made friends with an addict." Hercules snaps back. The phone clicks out. He didn't even say goodbye. That’s not nice.


	21. Chapter 21

By Wednesday, John doesn't have an excuse to get out of classes. He licks his lips. Lets Alex lead him out of Lafayette's house, and goes to school. Alex brought over John’s charger. And they get his phone up to full battery beforehand. John stares at it. Numb. Quietly wishing it would stay quiet. Stay off. He doesn’t want to hear it ring. Doesn’t want to get a text. 

He slips the phone into his pocket. Lets Alex walk him to class. Terrified that at any moment it’d send him a notification. He keeps his head down, and lets Alex pull him from place to place. Alex promises to meet John after class. Even gives him a kiss on the cheek before departing. He’s trying to be sweet. 

John’s just..grateful Alex hadn’t walked him in to find a seat. Sit next to him and make a spectacle about being John's plus one. 

John shuffles forward. Feels like there are eyes on him. Everyone glancing his way. Whispering to their friends. He bends his right pointer and middle fingers to his thumb. Picks at the nails. They’re too long. He listens as they click. Seemingly louder and louder with each shift of his nails. 

Doctor Talmadge comes in right on time. Settles the class with an authoritative motion. The nail on John’s middle finger is being difficult. He lifts it to his mouth. Bites the corner. Shifts it along his teeth until it gives a little. He drops the finger back to his lap. Starts tearing at it with more vigor. Smiling vaguely to himself as the nail bends. He pulls it all the way to the edge. 

Sharp pain starts at the corner, nail snagging on his skin. Tears prick at his eyes sharp and sudden. He takes another breath in. Rips it off like a bandaid on a wound. He can feel blood welling along the cuticle bed and lining. Filling in the gaps the nail left behind. He tucks the finger into his palm

Looks up. Kitty’s scowling at him. “That’s a disgusting habit.”  _ She doesn’t know the half of it.  _ Scowling, he flips her off. Bloody nail and all. She sneers at him, redirects her attention to the front of the class. 

John turns his head down toward the blank page in front of him. He has a pencil on his desk. And notes are being applied to the blackboard that he should write down. He can feel his chest starting to hurt. His lungs struggling to expand. He tries to breathe in, but it doesn’t work. He can’t quite get his lungs to respond properly. 

_ Don’t panic in class, _ he commands himself. He lifts the pencil. Lowers it to the page. Scribbles the date in the top left corner. He writes slow and methodical. Breathe in. Write one sentence. Breathe out. 

He closes his ears to the rest of the world.  _ Just focus on Talmadge’s lecture. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get through the class.  _

Time ticks on slower and slower. Each second dragging on and on. He grips his right hand to his chest. Squeezing a fist around his shirt as he keeps writing his notes. Trying desperately not to let the panic attack get worse.

He can feel his brain starting to jump. Feel it start to stutter over steps. There’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing bad. 

But...what if there is? What if Kitty keeps sending him dirty looks? What if Talmadge calls his name? What if there was homework he hadn’t done? What if he’s been a disappointment. Again. What if….

“That’s it for today!” John jumps. The pencil snaps in his hand. It creaks like a broken bone. Jeans rustle and limbs smack against chairs. Feet stomp. John’s trapped in his seat. The sounds echo around him like a back alley at midnight. 

Kitty shoves past him. He still can’t bring himself to stand. He’s locked in place. Frozen in time. He holds the broken half of his pencil in one hand. His eyes trail down to find the other half rolling side to side on the floor. Wood chips breaking off. 

The room is empty. Empty except for Talmadge. 

Converse shoes slowly walk towards his desk. They settle to a stop. Then Talmadge sits down. Leans over so they’re eye level. “You doing okay kid?” He asks slowly. John nods. He doesn’t think he can get his throat to work anyway. Doesn’t think he can manage to make sound. 

“Those bruises look pretty rough,” Talmadge continues. “You get them checked out?” Another nod. John’s throat is tightening. A vice clenches so tight he doesn’t think he’ll ever breathe again. He’s going to suffocate right here in Talmadge’s classroom.  _ What’s the Critical Thinking behind that?  _ He wonders. 

A hand comes into view, and John flinches. It drops back down. That’s wrong. That’s wrong. That’s bad. He looks up. Forces his eyes to meet Talmadge’s. John’s fingers are shaking. His lips are so very dry. He needs to say something. Anything. Because Talmadge is starting to get that concerned look adults get when they think they need to interfere. 

“I quit,” he manages. A balloon popping. Air bursting. Pressure destabilizing. Stabilizing? Wait. Which way is he going? There are tears in his eyes. He brings a hand up to cover his face. “Using,” he gets out, because he knows it didn’t make much sense before. 

“When?” Talmadge asks slowly. 

He wants to say Friday. But that’s not right. He’d taken his last pill Friday. He hasn’t had one since. “Saturday?” 

Talmadge nods. Shows him his hands. Then asks one final question. “Can I give you a hug?” John’s never had a teacher ask him that before. He nods. And Talmadge wraps him up close. Pulls him to his chest. It’s a nice hug. Warm. Friendly.  _ Kind.  _ John likes it. “Good job, kid. You’re doing good.” The balloon pops again. It doesn’t matter. It goes the right way. He can breathe.  _ He can breathe. _


	22. Chapter 22

Phone calls home were…carefully scheduled. Lafayette memorized his parents’ schedules a long time ago, and he made sure that he always called so he could just get it all over at once. No calling back later to discuss the same trivial details with Père, no double-check-ins with Maman. If he’s lucky, Pierre is there and he can get through the important details so that the talk with his parents is short and sweet. He doesn’t need to listen to them whining.

This isn’t a carefully scheduled phone-call. It’s off the cuff, and it’s to Pierre directly. It’s answered on the fifth ring. Surprising for Pierre. Usually he’s far more prompt. Lafayette vaguely wonders if he begged out of a meeting to answer the call.

“Gil?” Pierre sounds out of breath. Like he’s...scared? Or been running? It’s unusual. Pierre is rarely unruffled by anything. Lafayette winces. Calls out of the blue by unexpected godsons apparently fall under the exceptions category.

“Everything’s fine,” he soothes, wishing he’d had a better excuse lined up for why he’s calling. He doesn’t. He just knows that the phone had been sitting innocently on his counter while he was making lunch…and then he was dialing Pierre’s number.

He listens as Pierre’s breathing settles. It takes a while. Longer than usual. Pierre usually has an uncanny ability to go from frenzied warzone to unparalleled calm in nanoseconds. He’s lived with or around Lafayette’s family since well before Lafayette was even born. He’s used to how they all act. And yet…it takes at least a full minute for Pierre to settle.

A door clicks shut on the other line, and Lafayette imagines Pierre finding some room to gain some privacy. Maybe he snapped his fingers at an underling and sent them fleeing with a flick of the wrist. “You sure you’re all right?” Pierre asks. Lafayette hums an affirmative. “What’s going on, love?”  

Lafayette shrugs. Knows Pierre can’t see it. Knows that he needs to explain. But he can’t wrap everything that’s happened in the past week into a pithy sentence. It’s too much, and he doesn’t know where to start.

“You want to hear about this total dick who just got sued for ten million?” Pierre asks. Lafayette snorts.

“Yeah. Tell me.” The case is stupid. But Pierre talks about it like it’s interesting. There’s an employer  caught with his pants down, an assistant secretary who got pregnant. Stealing, adultery, drugs.

“What was she on?” Lafayette asks.

“Hmm? A whole mess of things. Doesn’t really matter in the end, does it?”

“No.” He sits down in one of his chairs. Listens as Pierre continues his tale. It’s long. Circular. Seems to go around and around. Bad decisions being made left and right. “Why’d she start?” he asks. Pierre doesn’t even miss a beat.

“That’s the real question isn’t it? Why does anyone start?”

Lafayette picks his nail against the cracks in his table. Slides it in and out of the seam. There are crumbs inside. He tries to kick them up. Get them out. “It’s not me,” Lafayette excuses. Knowing Pierre’s smart enough to follow the trail of _his_ conversation. Pierre hasn’t lost a case in twelve years. It’s not because he’s unobservant.

“I didn’t say it was,” Pierre murmurs. “You don’t mention a lot of friends.” Lawyer speak for, Lafayette only mentions _one_ friend. Shaking his head, Lafayette tells Pierre he’s wrong. It’s not Hercules Mulligan.

The image is…almost funny, though. It’s a thought that Lafayette hadn’t even considered, but now is actively imagining. Him telling Pierre Hercules was using…Pierre struggling to decide how best to handle it. The Mulligans don’t like drugs. Their history with it…is bloody and violent. It’s hard to imagine Pierre _not_ telling them. But, Lafayette can still see him proceeding with caution.

Not that any of this matters. It’s not Hercules that Lafayette’s worried about. It’s John.

His oldest friend sighs. “I could tell you about another case? Tease out some more details. Track your responses. Form a hypothesis. Eventually, I’ll know what you’re calling about.”

“It’s fun hearing you work,” Lafayette admits. “Was this one even real?”

“Probably somewhere,” Pierre sighs again. A chair moves. Fabric is shifted.

“You sound tired.”  

The older man snorts. “Your parents had me up all night.”

After all this time, Père and Maman haven’t changed. Their flagrant disregard for anyone else besides them puts Lafayette’s hackles on end. He squeezes the phone. Irritated on Pierre’s behalf. “You need a vacation. They abuse you.”

And as always, Pierre is endlessly amused by Lafayette’s attempts to talk about it. Always fluffing him off, “You have no idea.”

 _That’s not good enough._ “Why do you let them get away with it? They treat you like a slave. Shackling you to your desk.”  

“And you? My dear Gilbert, calling at all hours of the night expecting me to always be at your beck and call?”

“You always have been,” Lafayette points out.

There’s a pause. Then, “I always will be. You’ve always come first. I made you that promise when you were born.”

“Yeah, because my parents—”

“—do _not_ tell me about how your parents have somehow failed you, Gil. I am _not_ in the mood.” Lafayette’s mouth closes with a click. “There are kids in this world who have never had half the love, guidance, generosity, or understanding your parents have bestowed upon you. If you’re waiting for the punchline, there isn’t going to be one. If you want to know why your friend started using, I suggest you ask them. Because musing to me isn’t going to get you the answers you want. Nor will insulting your family.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—Yes. You did. You have many gifts, Gil. But the one you need to work on? Is learning when not to push. Talk to your friend. And _try_ not to be an ass about it.”

“I’m never an ass.”

“Yeah. Right. Clearly, you’re not trying hard enough.”


	23. Chapter 23

Alex is waiting for John by the gate. He looks nervous. Shifting his weight about and glancing in all directions. John’s almost fifteen minutes late. He wonders how much later he’d need to be before Alex came looking for him. Feels bad that he made his friend worry. Rubbing at his eyes a little, he tries to manage a smile.

His friend catches sight of him and immediately darts forward. Wrapping his arms around John’s body and pressing his head against John’s chest. He gasps. Bruised ribs complaining about the contact. It’s fine. He can handle it. It’s not that bad.

“Are you all right?” Alex asks. He runs his hands over John’s body. Searching for something that’s not there. John half wonders if he’s going to inspect his pockets. His backpack. See if in the past few minutes, John’s been able to get himself a score.

He shouldn’t feel bad about it. Knows that it’s a perfectly reasonable assumption. But. It hurts. It makes him step back. Hug his arms around his chest. Nod. “Yeah…I was talking to Dr. Talmadge.” Alex’s nose crinkles. He leans in close enough to kiss. Inspects John’s face for any sign that he’d been using.

“About what?”

“I…explained my absence on Monday.” It’s the best he can come up with. He doesn’t want to say that he had a panic attack. That he’d been frozen in place. Unable to get up. Unable to do anything. Half convinced that if someone came in the room and just beat him senseless, he’d _let_ them. Wouldn’t even try to defend himself.

The urge to just curl up and disappear is still strong. Kitty’s scathing expression triplicating in his mind. There are too many people. Each one making the spacious campus far too claustrophobic. It feels as though they all _know_ , and he’s terrified that he’s going to go through this every class.

Not every teacher is going to be as understanding as Talmadge. Not everyone is going to accept his absence on Monday and Tuesday as a valid excuse. _Do you have a doctor’s note?_ Echoes loudly in his head. He doesn’t. And the bruises hardly matter. He’s walked in bruised and bloody almost every day this school year. This time is no different.

Alex leans up and kisses him. Lightly trails his lips over John’s. John stops. Lets it happen. He never cared before. Isn’t sure why he cares now. Except. He doesn’t feel like it. Doesn’t feel like getting touched. “It’s going to be okay,” Alex promises. He holds out his hand. John takes it. “Two more and then we’re done,” he swears.

John nods.

He can handle two more classes. They walk together, side by side. Alex squeezing his palm tightly. Prompting conversation. “Kitty Livingston’s a bitch,” John offers. Anxiety starting to rise up again. Shifting...changing...fight or flight? Fight or flight...

“What’d she do this time?” Alex asks knowingly.

“Just…she can’t keep her fucking nose to herself.” The phrase isn’t exactly right. He thinks that it’s supposed to be something else, but he can’t be bothered to figure out what. It doesn’t matter. Alex nods his head.

“She can be nice,” he offers. John snorts. Lets Alex squeeze his hand again. He’s pulsating the squeezing. Tighter, tighter tighter…then looser, looser, looser. It’s calming. Relaxing. Makes John slow down just a little bit more. _He’s your best friend...it’s all right..._

Alex keeps talking. Once he gets started it’s near impossible to stop. And Alex has an opinion on everything. Especially Kitty Livingston’s legs. He waggles his brows as he makes lewd jokes about what must be under Kitty’s skirt, and John feels his stomach curling around inside him. Gurgling badly. “I really couldn’t care _less_ about what’s up Kitty Livingston’s skirt,” he mumbles. Alex pauses. _Fuck_ . He’s made Alex upset again. Scrambling, he tries to make it a joke. “I’m _gay.”_ The admission tastes like ash.

But Alex blinks. Mouth falling open in faux horror.

“You’re _gay?”_ he asks batting his eyes. “I never _knew_ that about you.” He gives John’s hand a mighty jerk, and John stumbles to a stop. Steadied by Alex’s other hand closing around his hip. Unknowingly squeezing down on bruises spanning John’s bones. He bites down on the whimper. Just leans into Alex’s touch as he tugs their bodies closer together. “Tell me…my _gay_ friend, John, what is it you think of if you don’t think of what’s up Kitty Livingston’s skirt?”

He’s being ridiculous. Is still batting his eyes at John. Sunkissed cheeks flushing as he leans in closer and closer. John ducks his head. Lets his lips trace against Alex’s. It starts gentle and sweet. He’s fifteen again, body aching and head spinning. He loved kissing Alex. Loves it. Present tense.

The hands on his hips pull him even closer. John can _feel_ Alex getting hard. Their hips rock back and forth, and John lets his teeth trace against Alex’s bottom lip. This is familiar. It settles some of the anxiety. Familiar is good. He can chase the familiar. He bites at Alex’s lip a little. Shifts to hold Alex’s head, his back. Tug him as close to him as possible. He moans.

“Your boyfriend going to be upset?” Alex asks slowly. Leaning back just enough to tilt their brows together. They’re breathing the same air.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” John discards immediately. He opens his eyes. Didn’t even realize they were closed.

Alex is giving him a strange look. He leans back on his heels. Tilts his head to the left. “You want him to be.”

That’s absurd. Lafayette…Lafayette doesn’t want someone like him. He’s made that clear. So it doesn’t matter, does it? “I’m an addict,” John tells Alex quietly. He steps away. Out of the strange cocoon of Alex’s teasing embrace. “It’s not like it’ll ever work out.”

“You’re getting clean—”

John cuts him off, “I’m going to be late for class.” The conversation is over.


	24. Chapter 24

In between classes, Alex stops back at Lafayette’s house. He walks right in, shouting out ‘hello’ as he does it. Lafayette meets him at the door, and frowns. “What...are you doing? Exactly?” Lafayette asks as he inspects Alex’s backpack and eager expression. 

“I brought some things for John,” Alex explains cheerily. 

“Why?” 

“Umm….because John’s staying here isn't he?" Lafayette can't even argue that. Though John moving in hadn't been intentional so much as an accidental byproduct of John getting sober. The longevity of it all hadn't even come up in conversation. When John left in the morning, he merely told him to come back in the evening. And John did.

So far, John's sobriety had lasted.

If it persisted, Lafayette assumes he'd go back to the dorm room. Which means Alex would, presumably, leave too. And would stop treating Lafayette’s house like his dorm. "It's not a permanent arrangement," he tells the boy. Alex actually looks disgusted by his comment. Opens his mouth to argue. 

And  _ there’s  _ the key difference between John and Alex. One impossible to ignore: Alex likes to talk, and John doesn’t. Where finding out what's going on in John's head sometimes feels like playing twenty questions, Alex has no problem divulging. Particularly since he's deemed Lafayette an acceptable person to discuss John with. "He obviously trusts you," Alex shrugs as he puts a stuffed turtle on John's (temporary) spot on the bed.

"He's also suffering from withdrawal," Lafayette points out needlessly. Alex doesn't seem bothered. Just shrugs.

"And he went to  _ you _ ." Whatever lingering feelings Alex may have about that are null and void. He's decided to ignore them. Or forget them. He hasn't shown even a smidgen of jealousy since John woke up. It's...strange.

Not that Lafayette  _ wants  _ to fight with Alex about John. He just...assumed that Alex would have a bigger opinion in the long run. So far, he doesn't. It's strangely disconcerting. "I found him," Lafayette explains. "That hardly counts as him coming to me."

Alex smiles at him. A forced straining of his lips that doesn't look the slightest bit pleased. "He'd been with me that night. He left to go...wherever he went. So in the end, it doesn't really matter does it? He left. He went out. You're the one he ended up with."

Yep. Lafayette's not touching that with a ten foot pole. He steps out of the way and lets Alex continue moseying about his house. Putting knick-knacks here and there. Frowning at Lafayette's furniture. "You've got a lot of money," he decides. Glancing back to look at Lafayette

"Some," Lafayette agrees. If the ratty clothes and the hunger-pang appearance is anything to go by, "You don't."

"Gee, can you tell?" Alex has a smart mouth. But he grins when he says it. Isn't offended. Isn't even trying to be belligerent. Lafayette wonders if Alex is even  _ aware _ of how he sounds. Short answer is, 'probably not.' "I was a foster kid, we're not known for having a lot of money."

There's something to be said about foster kids and their loyalty. Their determination to settle into their  _ found families.  _ Lafayette can almost see the answer in front of him. Spelt out in shining gold letters. "Is that—"

"How I met John? No. He's  _ got  _ a family, even if  _ they _ can't be bothered to remember that fact." Alex stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. "We did meet before this, though."

_ I wasn't completely wrong,  _ Lafayette muses as he leans against the back of the couch. John and Alex seemed too close to have just met in August. First term college friends, even roommates, didn't display this level of concern for one another. Not usually.

"Summer before freshman year of high school I got into a decent place. Was able to stick it through until I graduated. That's how we met."

"You were not adopted?"

"Didn't want to be. My mother's my mother. The Stevens weren't my parents. They were just collecting a check." Lafayette's not sure what he's meant to say about that. There probably isn't anything he could say. Everything's already over and done with. There's no point in asking the whys or how comes.

It doesn't solve anything.

Alex wanders around the couch and flops onto the cushions. Fluffs up a pillow a bit to see how comfortable it can get. "You know John likes you?"

"Shall I trade him notes in class? With hearts?"

"He'd probably hit you if you did."

"He can try." It makes Alex giggle. Shake his head and rub his hand under his nose. It's almost endearing. They're night and day. John quiet and reserved, Alex almost manic in his exuberance.

They complement each other so well; Lafayette has a hard time believing they're  _ not  _ together in some way. But Alex had been adamant, and John had corroborated. They weren’t together. Not in that sense.

Sprawling his legs out, Alex stretches his hands over his head. "But he does like you. He doesn't listen to people he doesn't like."

"He didn't listen to you about quitting." Alex flinches. Badly. His hands drop back down to his lap. His eyes slide off to the side. He rolls his lips. Bites at them. For one startling moment, Lafayette thinks he's made the boy cry. It's not what he intended. Not even what he wanted to get out of this conversation.

Alex's voice breaks, "I don't know why..." he trails off.

"What...I  _ meant  _ to say," Lafayette amends carefully. "Is that he doesn't listen to me because he likes me. He likes  _ you.  _ If it came down to  _ likes  _ then he'd have listened to you the first time."

"So why would he—"

"—He listens to me because I can  _ make  _ him listen to me. Because I can force him to sit still, can make him comply with sobriety so long as he's here in this house. It's not because he  _ likes  _ me. It's the exact opposite."


	25. Chapter 25

Madison's not hard to find. Even before...well. John's never had much trouble tracking him down. He keeps his head down and doesn't draw much attention to himself. One of those people who everyone knows, but no one can quite remember the face of. Hell, if he'd been white John doubts anyone would even know what he looked like. But there's always someone who can vaguely reference the quiet black kid in the back of their class. Even if they couldn't tell Madison from Mulligan.

But the thing with Madison? He's got a routine. And John knows that routine. Knows that Madison always eats at Ade on Fridays, and that John can find him there. Alex made him promise not to leave campus before he was done with class, and John told him exactly where he'd be. Eating lunch with Mads.

He makes his way to Ade, ascends the brightly colored stairs as carefully as he can. Shimmying around hunger diners and groaning patrons all complaining about the quality of Ade's food. John flashes his student ID. Accepts the punch on his card. Sits down across from Madison without even getting a tray.

To his credit, Madison doesn't even say anything about the bruises that mar John's face. He glances up. Frowns at him, but doesn't complain. Just shoves his tray in John's general direction. There's not much left. A mound of mushy french-fries drizzled with ketchup and too much salt. It's a heart attack waiting to happen.

Some of the health-nuts around campus have already started their complaints. Upper-classmen sigh at the posters and shake their heads. It’s a yearly event.

Reaching out, John snatches a few fries. Turns his seat around so his back's as close to the wall as it's going to get. Draws his left heel to his chair and extends his right onto the chair across from him. Madison always skulks in the corner. Back to the wall. It's smart. All things considered.

"Lose any teeth yet?" Madison asks after a moment. John runs his tongue over his molars. None of them move. Not much anyway. There's one in the back that feels like it might wiggle free eventually, but he's pretty sure that's just a wisdom tooth growing in. Alex had to get his removed when they were in high-school. If Lee felt compelled to do it for him, then it'd save John a couple hundred bucks in dental fees.

He shrugs. "Not yet." John takes a few more. The line to the checkout is at least twenty minutes long. It's not worth it to go wait at this point. Besides, Madison seems mostly done. He isn't even trying to get his fries back. At this point, John's not sure he'd let him.

For the first time all week, he's actually _hungry._ Ravenously so. He drags the tray a bit closer and starts scooping into as much excess ketchup as he can manage. He honestly can't remember the last time his stomach felt stable enough to eat more than the crackers and applesauce Lafayette kept cramming down his throat. Even Alex's banana bread left him feeling nauseous for hours.

Madison reaches down for something beside his seat and comes back up with a bag of cookies. Those little Chips Ahoy! bite things that the school bookstore sells for three dollars a bag. It's a rip-off. He passes them to John anyway, opening the bag up. Not even trying to convince John that there is 'free' food just one overly crowded line away. That’s nice.

And hey, if the French-fries were delicious, the cookies were _unreal._ John can literally _feel_ himself salivating. "How long have you been..." Madison trails off. Casts a glance around them. No one's close enough to hear, but Madison's always been the cautious type.

"Saturday," John replies. "Talmadge told me 'good job.'"

Madison's nose scrunches up. "You told Talmadge?"

"I...had a bad reaction in class. After class." He doesn't explain further, and Madison doesn't ask. Just tilts his head slightly and scans his eyes over John's body.

"How do you feel?"

For a moment, John wants to say 'Bad'. It's been his answer for almost a full week now. He hadn't really expected it to change. But...he doesn't feel _bad_ anymore. Not like he had when this started. He settles for, "Better," instead.

The side of Madison's mouth quirks up. He's actually smiling. And he slumps down a bit in his seat. There are lines of tension disappearing around his brow. John's surprised. Madison had been _worried._ John can't help but grin back. "You gonna stick with it?" There's no threat of disappointing Madison. No concern about whether or not he's going to be thought less of. Whether he's going to lose a friend. Madison doesn't care. Won't care. It's more refreshing than it had any right to be, and John is unbelievably grateful.

"I'm going to try?" It's more honest than anything he ever told Lafayette or Alex in any case. Even when he'd given Alex those exact same words, he'd said them to get Alex to back off. There hadn't been any true effort made on his part to stop. Hadn't been any attempt or follow through.

This though...this feels more like an honest effort. He's legitimately trying. Which, frankly, he never thought he'd do. There's a small voice in the back of his head reminding him that if Lafayette hadn't forced him to quit, he wouldn't have. But he doesn't want to listen that. Doesn't want to think about whether or not he would have made the choice without Lafayette. He made the choice now. That counts, doesn't it?

"You want help?" Madison asks him. There are countless ways Madison could help. From making sure other dealers back off, to being a friend and support system if John wanted it. It's a comfortable thought to play with. One he knows Lee never would have offered.

John licks his lips. Nods his head, and says: "Yes."


	26. Chapter 26

Alex doesn’t spend the night. John thanks his friend for bringing him back to Lafayette’s house, but then shuts the door in his face and twists the lock. He leans forward. Brow pressed against the hardwood. “Rough day?” Lafayette asks.

As if there is any doubt. Since Wednesday, John’s days have been bad. Consisting primarily of Alex, or Lafayette, dragging John to class and then getting him back to Lafayette’s house where he’s promptly fallen asleep each time. Alex had made an offhand comment about how Fridays were the worst because of the evening lab, and John muttered under his breath his distaste as well. It’d been tedious trying to get John to go, but he’d gone. 

Gone and come back. John nods his head against the door. Tapping it a few times. He turns. Glancing at Lafayette out of the corner of his eye. Lafayette approaches. His hands take hold of John’s arms and he pulls him backwards. Spine to Lafayette’s chest. He wraps his arms around the freshman. Holds him tight. Lets his cheek press against the side of John’s head. 

The body beneath him relaxes under the pressure. The neck tilts a little to the side. Inviting. John’s bruises have started to reach their apex. Some of the smaller ones have begun to fade. They drift off at the corners. Mixing with his already dark skin. Yellow fading to nothingness beneath his natural brown. 

“C’mere,” Lafayette hums. He steps back and pulls John after him. Leading him down to the basement. They descend the stairs quickly enough. Hopping over double steps. Hands sliding on the railings.

The basement has always been a workout area. Mats pad the floors. Punching bags either hang from the ceiling or are propped up by the wall, waiting to be used. John blinks at it all. “You seemed too fragile to bring down earlier,” Lafayette teases. John’s mouth quirks. Twitching along the corners before he smiles. 

“Oh really?” He asks. He takes a step forward. Pausing only to toe off his shoes. He kicks them to the side. Even reaches down to jerk his socks off next. 

It’s surprisingly polite and conscientious of him. Lafayette’s not sure why John’s manners always seem to strike him as odd, but they do. John’s aggressive and forthright when he wants to be, but he’s got a kind streak that runs through every action and reaction. 

He tilts his head in Lafayette’s general direction. Motions vaguely towards one of the bags. “By all means,” Lafayette invites. He settles on a bench. Taking his time to undo his laces and remove his boots like an adult. 

John’s fist flies into the bag. It sways on its chain. Creaking silently. Spinning just a touch. Already John’s breathing has started to change. He pulls in a touch quicker. Lets out just a little more harsh. 

He trades sides, angles. One hit. Two. His eyes focus on the bag. Blocking out everything else. Heedless to Lafayette as he stands and circles the room. Evaluating and inspecting. 

John’s technique is terrible. He stands too tall. He doesn’t have his legs spread enough to balance properly. When the bag swings towards him a touch too much, he stumbles. Chased by it rather than stopping it in its tracks. 

“Move your right foot back more,” Lafayette instructs. John hesitates, then complies. Giving Lafayette the chance to continue. “Your weight should be on the balls of your feet. It helps you move.” He shows John what he wants. Takes on a different bag. Two punches and a kick. The bag swings side to side with each strike. 

John copies. 

It’s not  _ perfect _ , but it’s better. It’s a start. 

Lafayette scoops up a pair of gloves from a nearby bench and makes John stop long enough to put them on. Already he’s split the skin on his knuckles. Blood staining the bag. John’s got enough injuries to heal without worrying about those as well. “So impatient,” Lafayette chastises lightly. 

“How do you hit it?” John counters. 

“ _ Un moment.”  _ Snatching a pair of gloves himself, Lafayette moves into position. His stance is different. He leads with his left hand, while John leads with his right. But regardless of which foot is out first, it’s the follow through and mobility John needs to work with. “If you put too much weight on your heels you won’t be able to move as quickly. Dodge or get out of the way. Here, look,” he gestures for John to take a punch, and he does. 

Anyone else might have slowed down their initial attack. This is a training moment, not a real fight. But John rockets his fist forward. Fully prepared to strike Lafayette as hard as he can if it came down to it. And while he doesn’t  _ land  _ the hit, it does make Lafayette stumble as his arms are crammed into position. Feet not moving nearly fast enough. 

John’s head tilts to the side consideringly. “ _ Tu es chanceux, mon petit lapin. Très chanceux.”  _ Lafayette’s not going to return the hit. Not yet. Not right now. When those bruises have finally faded and John’s bones stop creaking each time he strains himself...then he’ll gladly take John down on the mats. 

But not now. And John knows it. He grins imperiously. Chin tilting upwards. “Just keep my weight forward, huh?” 

“Do it again,” Lafayette instructs. Shifting his weight. John does. Switching it up to a jab cross combination. Swiveling his hips, Lafayette blocks high, swatting John’s arms out of the way and sending an elbow towards John’s face. He stops it just before it collides with John’s eye, and the boy freezes. Clearly expecting the hit to land. 

He stumbles backwards when it doesn’t. Blinking as he tries to work out what had just happened. Whether he’s confused Lafayette  _ didn’t  _ land the strike, or surprised how close it came, Lafayette doesn’t know. He just knows that John licks his lips enticingly. Nods his head. And asks, “Show me again?”


	27. Chapter 27

Lafayette gave John a key. 

Holding it up to the light, John doesn’t quite know what to do with it. “If you’re going to be here, you’re going to be here,” Lafayette told him with a shrug. 

It’s not like John’s moving in. He doesn’t even keep any clothes in Lafayette’s house. The few items Alex brought over are just the ones John cares about. Wouldn’t want to spend the night  _ anywhere _ without. If Lafayette finds their arrangement odd, he doesn’t say anything. Just lets John do what he’d like. 

John’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here anymore, to be honest. The edge has started to be less of an edge and more of a dead-end road where the end wasn’t quite in sight anymore. Where maybe John was going the other way, rather than careening off a cliff. 

He’s not naive. He knows full well that the honeymoon would end as soon as something came up. But so far...nothing had. It gives him a little more leeway to pretend that this is going to be okay. He’s able to manage without the pills. Without something forcing his mind to stop. 

Lafayette had been keeping good on his promise. Whenever John’s pulse raced a touch too fast. Whenever his head spun in circles without end. Whenever John simply couldn’t manage another moment...Lafayette had been there. Dragging him down to the basement. Trading punches back and forth. 

He took John on runs. He gave John showers. He placed a hand on John’s throat and he squeezed until the thoughts all were replaced only by the primal urge to  _ breathe.  _ When John’s mind spins, Lafayette is there. Talking to him. Getting him to calm down. Breaking through the barriers until John is able to close his eyes. 

Sleep. 

He doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to stop coming to this house. He’s not allowed to use if he’s going to come here. Stay here. And the thought of never coming back...is more terrifying than anything else. John can’t do that to himself, he just can’t. 

And now here he is, crawling through Lafayette’s closet. Snooping. He’s not sure what he expects to find. Whatever it is, it’s not the sword. It’s long and narrow. Not especially heavy. There’s a big hand guard on it, and it flexes under pressure. 

John can’t help himself. He pulls it out and gives it an experimental swing. “It’s a epee,” Lafayette tells him from the doorway. John glances at him, refusing to feel bad about snooping. 

“It’s for fencing, right?” 

“Mmhmm.” Lafayette waves his hand toward the sword, the  _ epee,  _ and smiles. John passes it over. Tilting his head and watching as Lafayette spreads his legs. Holds the epee out in front of him in a clear posture. 

He take a step forward with his front foot and makes a lunging motion. The sword tip stops right above John’s heart. Not touching him, but getting only centimeters away. The move is a nice little performance, kind of elegant in a strange way. 

Making a grabbing motion with his hand, John reaches for the epee. Lafayette offers it with ease. Even goes as far as taking John’s left hand and adjusting the grip. “It’s meant for a right,” he apologizes vaguely. 

He shifts John’s hips. Nudging John’s feet with his toes so they stand in the right position. Heels in line with one another. Weight centered between his feet. “Like that cat thing you showed me before?” 

“Cat stance?” Lafayette clarifies. Their fighting lessons had started to drift into more sophisticated positions. And Lafayette was a fierce teacher. Intent on passing along as much knowledge as he possibly could. 

John nods. Smiling as Lafayette presses his palm to John’s back. Straightening his spine with a firm rub. “It’s a farther distance than the cat stance. Same...idea,” Lafayette wraps his body around John’s. Legs nudging into John’s. Arms holding firm. He guides John backwards and forwards. “Step with the front leg. Always the front. Lunge….” 

Lafayette’s breath ghosts around his ear. His heartbeat beats against his back. John closes his eyes. Follows the motion as Lafayette repeats the process. Forward. Step. He pushes John into position with his body. Grinds his groin against John’s ass as they move. “I could teach you how to fight,” Lafayette tells him when he eventually steps back. Trailing his fingers along John’s curves as he moves. “You need gear, though. I will not teach you without.” 

His absence turns John’s body cold. He shivers. Pulls the sword close as he glances at Lafayette. “Gear?” 

“Mask,” fingertips trail across his cheeks. Lightly ghosting over John’s eyes. “To keep your pretty face in tact.” He taps John’s chest. “Jacket and lames to keep your body in one piece. Gloves. Knickers—”

“— _ knickers? _ ” John cuts in. “That’s Alex’s thing not mine.” 

“Alex’s…? How can it be...I’m not teaching you how to...” Lafayette doesn’t seem to know where to start. Or stop. He keeps trailing off. Confusion flickering around his cheekbones. Face scrunching about the nose. And then he’s laughing. “ _ Non, non.  _ Knickers. Fencing knickers. They are...pants? Pants with the belts on the shoulders?” 

“Suspenders?” 

“ _ Oui!  _ Like that. They are protective. Not…” he laughs. Snorts really. “ _ Knickers.  _ Alex and...you really  _ must  _ tell me more about Alex’s knickers sometime,  _ oui? _ ” John flushes. 

Cheeks burning as he mumbles that it’s not a conversation they really need. Lafayette grins either way. Reaching once more for John’s hips. “Let me measure you,  _ lapin. _ ” 

“Not sure you really need to measure  _ there _ ,” John mutters. 

Lafayette isn’t impressed. He huffs. Shakes his head. “That, my dear John, we’ll have to disagree about.” He scoops up a measuring tape from a drawer in the living room. Then has John pose for him. Makes him stand straight with his arms out wide. It’s strangely erotic. Even if the most John gets for his good behavior is a kiss on the cheek, and a promise for more later.


	28. Chapter 28

The sword feels nice in John's hand. "It has a real name," Lafayette mutters, adjusting John's poor grip. He finishes strapping John's jacket into place. Scoops up John's face mask and puts it on. It's hard to see. The grey-black lines crisscrossing in front his eyes casts the world into a fogging blur. "Can you breathe?" 

It's an interesting question.  _ Can  _ John breathe? Yes. His lungs are physically capable of inhaling and exhaling on command. Even without command. They can work just fine. But John can't help himself. He's holding his breath. Throat clenching as he squints through the darkness of the mask.

His heart thunders in his ears. He forces himself to draw air. "It's claustrophobic," John tells Lafayette awkwardly. Lafayette hums. Brings his hand and rests it against the mask. That...doesn't help. The shadows cover everything, and John squirms. Struggling to fight back against the urge to pull away. Tear the mask off. Put an end to this sport before his interest grows any further.

The hand doesn't stay there. Slowly, Lafayette shifts backwards. "Keep your eyes on me," he instructs. John does. Watching as the hand pulls away. Moves farther and farther back. The grey meshing slowly fading out of focus so John can get the full picture of Lafayette's palm. From there, it's not hard to see everything else as well. Lafayette's face. His clothes. The basement. The mask is fine enough that, but for the slightest bit of fogging around the edges, John can see.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

The panic recedes.

"Better?" Lafayette asks. John nods. Neck muscles going tense at the strange sensations. Top heavy and awkward.

But the  _ epee  _ (not 'sword') isn't heavy. It feels...unlike anything John's felt. As Lafayette steps back, moving to adjust John's feet into the right position, applying pressure to his legs, John gives it a bit of a swish. Watching as the tip bends and flexes. The wobble is fun to watch, and John does it again.

Glancing down, John inspects the lines taped on the floor. Lafayette's kept him on point. Heel to heel. Feet turned out in different directions. John bounces on his toes. "Steady," Lafayette laughs. John doesn't want to steady. He wants to fly. He wants to move. He wants to attack and attack with no signs of stopping. Lafayette presses his hand against John's back. "Patience."

John's not good at patience. But he lets his weight settle. Lets the epee slowly point towards the floor. "Every fencing attack starts the same way," Lafayette starts. "You’re left-handed, so your left foot goes first. Step forward with the left—staying on your toes, then shuffle with the back."

He shows John the foot pattern. Step forward. Step up. Step forward. Step up. Step forward. Step up. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Nodding his head, John does his best to mimic. He sticks his tongue between his lips, tucking it in the corner as he moves. Step forward. Step up. Step forward. Step up. He holds the epee up in front of him. Perpendicular. His right hand behind his back.

"In epee, every part of your body is fair game. You'll need to keep make sure that you don't allow a single strike through. Even...slashes count." Lafayette moved to the human shaped punching bag. Taking position and performing a few quick strokes to show what he meant. The side of the epee smacking against the beige flesh. Another strike, this time the point digging into the sternum. Bending the epee in a satisfying arc.

The lesson goes on. Lafayette adjusting hands and correcting steps. He's a dedicated teacher. Strict, but energetic. John finds a kind of relaxing purpose in the movements. They're strict and orderly. One step forward. One step up. The lunge is a kind of one footed leap, dragging the back foot along for the ride.

There's a kind of practiced foot pattern and epee movement that Lafayette slowly teaches him. A strange repetition of steps that Lafayette calls a kind of 'kata.' When John had asked what a kata  _ was  _ exactly, Lafayette rolled his eyes and told him that he  _ knew  _ John never received any formal training.

"What's that got to do with the price of apples?" John had questioned almost immediately. Lafayette never replied.

Instead, he took John through a series of motions. Back and forth, back and forth. Here's how you aim. Here are the best places to attack. They don't actually fight. "Bad habits are formed by beginners playing pretend," Lafayette tells him with a huff.

John can't exactly deny that. But there's a buzzing under his skin determined to move. To get going. To do more. His muscles are sore. Sore in a way that he hasn't felt in a long time. He's not in bad shape, physically, but the strain to different muscle groups he's not used to using is obvious.

He pushes his weight backwards and forwards. Advancing and retreating. Holding the epee into position. Getting ready for anything. Step forward. Step up. Step forward. Step up.

It's a satisfying mantra that slows down every thought in his head to a single point of focus. Strangely, the half darkness of the mask feels almost  _ comfortable.  _ He's a horse with blinders on, blocking out the noise. Tunneling everything into one solitary focus.

It's a restriction of his sensations. A tight confining wrap that affords him only one point of view. One frame of reference. Step forward. Step up. He can repeat this again and again. Follow the pattern. One plus one equals two. The world makes sense. Even the clothes, the uniform, in all it's confining glory, feels uniquely comfortable. Soft and protecting.

Lafayette lets him feel what it feels like to get hit. And. It's safe. He's not even bruised. His skin hums a little, but it's not bad. It's just enough.

"Having fun?" Lafayette asks.

John smiles at him. "I really am." He puts his feet back in position. And begins again.


	29. Chapter 29

"Fencing again?" Pierre asks the next time they speak. It's been almost a month since the last time they've spoken. His friend sounding far more alert and less out of breath than he had been. Then again, it's a scheduled check-in, so Lafayette's expected. Pierre is nothing except practical.

"Reading Maman's bills again?" Lafayette accuses. He likes talking to Pierre in English. His parents, for some reason, have been resolute in their determination to never learn. Speaking to Pierre now...feels like talking in code.

His friend actually snorts. "Love, I pay those bills on their behalf, of course I read them."

"Is there anything you _don't_ do for them?" Lafayette asks, throwing himself onto his couch and wincing immediately. He reached under his back. Feeling around until he found John's turtle. Must have left it there the last time that they'd been watching TV together. Setting it off to the side, Lafayette wriggles into a more comfortable position.

"I don't wash dishes," Pierre reports primly. "Tell me about your male size four."

"My what?"

The older man snorts loudly. "The cute little thing you're outfitting in fencing gear. It's not for you, and it's not for Hercules. So tell me about him."

"You're nosy, and size fours are only girls—"

"Don’t be ridiculous, Of course I'm nosy.  It's three sizes too short for you, and I did say _male_. You got a sabre and a foil as well. You hate sabre and foil. You bought shoes too. Which means you're close enough to him to know his shoe size. And considering you're buying everything—"

"—he could always be paying me back."

"He's not. You don't accept money from people poorer than you."

"More poor," Lafayette corrects.

" _Casse-toi_ , it's 'poorer'. And either way—my point stands."

Lafayette couldn't honestly remember the last time he engaged Pierre in this kind of verbal chess match. Pierre tended to already know the answers to his questions, and even if he didn't—he'd figure them out. Lafayette never could figure out how he managed it. "It really doesn't, I never said he was _poorer_ than I was."

"Spoiled rich kids _with_ money don't need to borrow their friends' credit cards to make purchases. They already have them." And that's...not wrong. Lafayette winces. Backed into a corner again. And it didn't even take that much time. "Is he your addict?"

"He's not an addict anymore."

Silence.

Rare are the moments where Pierre doesn't usually have _something_ to say. His reactions are always fast and rapid fire. One brilliant idea after the next. Lafayette waits. Impatient. He's not even sure why it matters. At this point, Pierre will know everything as it is. There's no reason _not_ to tell the man about John. And yet. There's a part of him that doesn't want to say a thing. That wants to keep John and every scrap of information he knows about him all to himself.

"It's a good thing he's not using right now, love. But you need to understand something. He's going to be an addict for the rest of his life."

Irritation sparks hot and fast in Lafayette's chest. He opens his mouth to argue. "I'm not saying it to be cruel," Pierre continues. "He's your friend. And you're happy for him. I understand that. But. He made this choice, and it's a choice that he's going to need to live with for the rest of his life. He's going to have urges and desires. He's going to have needs that...you might not expect. Nor want to deal with."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know you, Gil. And I know your attention span. And I know your kindness. You're your parents' son, and you show it more and more every day—"

"I am _nothing_ like my parents." There's a pause. A brief moment in time, suspended for what feels like eternity. The silence had been startling to begin with. And it's even more startling now. The rebuke Lafayette had been expecting—doesn't come. The sharply worded command for respect is absent. Lafayette is quiet.

Quiet, until Pierre is not. "Did I ever tell you how I met your parents?"

Lafayette's almost certain that he doesn't care. Nor does he imagine that he wants to care. It's irrelevant to this conversation, and anything having to do with his parents usually only sets his teeth on edge. He tells Pierre as much.

A car pulls up in the driveway, and Lafayette tilts his head to look. John. And Alex. They exit the vehicle, and John is smiling faintly at his friend. Nodding his head at whatever story that Alex is conjuring.

"I have to get going anyway," Lafayette tells him. The pause is still lingering. A silence building between them.

"Before you go..." Pierre clears his throat. "I took your advice."

"Hmm?" The door opens. John looks to him immediately. Smiles wide.

"I'm going on vacation. I won't...be around for a while. If you need anything, leave a message and I'll get back to it as soon as I can. Or you can always talk to your parents..." another final pause. "But. In any case, it might be a while. I'm going to take a break."

"You deserve one," Lafayette tells him. Meaning every word. Pierre lingers on. Then—

"You know I love you, right son?" the word makes Lafayette's stomach twist uncomfortably. Pierre never uses it.

He goes to say yes, but Alex sharply announces he's going to make pancakes for dinner. Lafayette's distracted. On the other end, he hears a quiet murmur of French, and then a departure. He attempts to say goodbye, but the line's clicked out.

John smiles at him. Tilts his head back to the kitchen, then vanishes. Lafayette watches him go. His brows furrowed in confusion. Something's just happened. In the past few minutes, he knows something's transpired. He isn't sure what it is exactly. But he hates it. And he wants it to stop.


	30. Chapter 30

John blinks at his reflection. The bruises faded a long time ago. He knew that. Was aware of it. Knew it like he knew his own name. And yet. This is the first time he actually inspected his face thoroughly since then.

His skin...doesn’t look that bad?

He licks his lips, and lifts a hand to touch the reflection. His hair seems to bounce a little. The dark circles he’s long since grown accustomed to under his eyes are...gone? Thinking back, John can’t actually remember getting less than six hours of sleep per night in a while. And he _has_ been sleeping. But there’s always a body next to him. Always Lafayette rolling over to place a hand on his chest. His throat. His cheek. “Sleep,” he’s commanded. And he sleeps.

The bathroom door swings open, and John’s hand falls from the mirror. He turns to Madison and smiles. It doesn’t even feel forced. “You doin’ all right?” Mads asks. ”Takin’ a while.”

“Yeah...yeah I’m doing good.” He feels good. Really good. It’s...unnatural almost.

Flicking his fingers over the sink to lose a few extra droplets, he snatches a handful of paper towels from the tray and scurries after Madison. They’d just gotten done with dinner. Alex had a club meeting he needed to attend, and Madison had offered him a place to hang out for a while. He took it. Grateful.

There’s some comedy sketch happening on campus, and they’d talked about watching it together. Even considered playing catch some with an old baseball Madison found in his car. “Think it’s my brother’s,” he muttered, tossing it up in the air.

Stomach full of food, and chest feeling strangely light, the idea of doing something physical is far more appealing. “Laf’s teaching me fencing,” he reveals. Madison tilts his head, considering.

“You like it?”

“It’s….” Repetitious. Grounding. John’s got a set order of steps he needs to go through. Pre-programmed responses. Rules that make sense. Rules he can trust himself to follow. And more than that...he feels like his foil keeps him safe. Strange as that is. “Yeah,” he settles. “Yeah I like it.”

Lafayette’s even started teaching him how to actually fight. How to block and evade. When to know to retreat or advance. How to count your breaths and make sure that you’re always in motion around your opponent. John’s loved every moment of it.

Can get caught up in the motions that he forgets that time exists. He’s trained for hours and not realized it. Muscles not even smarting anymore. Instead, settling down and letting him just move and move and move.

Step forward. Step up.

He shows Madison the stance. Bounces forward a few paces to give him a good example. Madison watches, nodding his head. “You look a little silly,” he admits.

“Laf says it needs some work,” John explains. “I’m too high. I need to get lower.” He spreads his legs a little more. Sinks down.

“Think there’s a fencing team on campus, you gonna try out?” It’s not that John hasn’t thought about it.

The moment he realized he’d done nothing _but_ practice fencing during his remaining free time, he knew that the fencing team was the obvious choice.  He just…had never been on a team before. “I don’t think I’m really team material,” he mumbles quietly.

Madison gives him an annoyed look. Arching one brow and huffing loudly. “What exactly is team _material?”_ He asks.

“Someone who’s not an anti-social addict just looking for a different kind of high.” The words come out without conscious thought, and John actually winces. Flinching as his brain catches up with himself.

Madison lets him have a moment to reflect how utterly abysmal that statement sounded. Then he nodded. “First, you’re not anti-social. You’ve got social anxiety.”

“That sounds made up.”

“It’s not. You haven’t taken first year psych yet have you?” That didn’t require an answer. Madison already knows what classes John’s taking. “Look, I’m just saying. Joining a team? Might help give you other connections besides…” he makes a vague motion with his hand.

“Drug dealers?” John supplies.  He’s given an affirmative hum in response.

“Think about it.”

John’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen. His feet stop. Madison stumbles, trying to catch his momentum so he doesn’t stride too far ahead. He turns, and John can see him loitering just inside his peripheral. Leaning closer to see the name on the screen.

_Father._

“Right now…you’re on a honeymoon with your sobriety,” Madison warns. “You’re gonna feel good right up until the moment it doesn’t.” The phone keeps buzzing. “Staying sober when your life is going to hell? _That’s_ what you need to work on. And…maybe right now isn’t the time for that?”

It’s going to ring out if John doesn’t answer it. His father will leave a voicemail, and it’ll haunt him. Driving him insane until he listens.

The buzzing stops. They stare at the screen.

The notification arrives.

Madison reaches for the phone, opens it, and directs it to the inbox. He deletes the voicemail without letting John listen to it. “Don’t do this to yourself tonight.”

“That could’ve been important.”

“Or it could have been a spiteful old man telling you shit you don’t need to listen to. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not next week. If it’s that important, he’ll find another way to get the message to you. But right now? We’re gonna go watch a show. You’re gonna come back to my dorm and we’re gonna watch some movies. Then I’m gonna take you home to your weird ass boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Does he know that?” Madison slings an arm around John’s shoulders and gives him a little shake. He turns off John’s phone, shoving it back in John’s pocket. “Take a break,” he orders.

It’s so easy to just say, “Okay.”

He can listen to the _next_ voicemail later.


	31. Chapter 31

His phone still won't stop ringing. Lafayette groans. Reaching out, he fumbles for the infernal device. " _ Oui?" _

"Is John with you?" Alex asks immediately. Not even a hello. Lafayette blinks blearily. Rubs his eyes. He flops onto his back. Peers to his left. No John. That's...odd. He'd been there earlier.

_ "Non,"  _ he gurgles out.  _ "Porqoui?" _

There's a slight hesitation. Then—"Madison said John got a call from his father last night." That doesn’t mean anything to Lafayette. He rubs his eyes. “I can’t get a hold of him on his phone.” 

“ _ Et?” _

“ _ And  _ someone said they saw him at Teller’s around closing with one of Lee’s buddies.” Lafayette sits up.

The walls of his bedroom are a faded off white. In the pre-morning light, it looks grey. Grey, dark and shadowed. Dressers casting black lines in angles down to the floor. Ella the Turtle is sitting on one of the dressers. Staring back at Lafayette with beady black eyes. Waiting.

John's foil is leaning not far away. His jacket and knickers neatly folded on a chair. Shoes tucked in beneath it. It's the only thing that John keeps good care of. Keeps tidy. Everything else is a mess of casual chaos. Keys tossed on counters. Bags dropped in the middle of the floor. He cares about the fencing gear, though. Is always so good about keeping track of them.

The fingers of Lafayette's left hand start to tremble in his lap. The middle one bouncing up and down. A fidgeting habit that he'd thought he'd broken a long time ago. No such luck.

"I told him not to come back if he used again," Lafayette tells Alex. Alex is quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that reminds him, suddenly, of the pauses in Pierre's conversation only a few weeks ago. The kind of quiet that feels abruptly familiar. The ones that precipitated the eventual dismissal. The angry growl. The accusation that Lafayette didn't know what he was talking about. Didn't know what he was doing.

That John deserved better.

Alex is quiet. 

Then he's not. "Fuck you," he spits out. The phone clicks off. There's open air on the line.

Lafayette's hand falls into his lap.

He lays back down. Staring up at the ceiling. He can't go back to sleep. It's a physical impossibility. The phone in his hand is sitting silently. A dead and empty faced object that doesn't do anything except exist. Exist in all of its cellular glory. A device useful to reaching out and talking to someone miles and miles away. But...clearly...a device incapable of actually allowing any conversation to matter.

John's number is saved in Lafayette's phone. And vice-versa. John never called him. Never called to say that he was getting close to making a bad decision. That the addict in him had started to prevail. He'd slipped out of Lafayette's house, and he'd purposefully left without speaking.

He'd made his choice.

And Lafayette didn't believe in second chances.

He lay backwards. Spine straightening as he tries to settle down. The popcorn painted ceiling stares down at him. John used to make designs on the ceiling with his finger. Pointing out the patterns in the swirls. Lafayette can still see the Mickey Mouse John showed to him.

The phone in his palm weighs a thousand pounds.

John made his choice, Lafayette reminds himself. John made his choice to go back to whatever it is that he felt had been more important. John didn't even have the excuse that he'd been in withdrawal. It's been months. He's been good for months. And he still chose the wrong thing.

Lafayette closes his eyes. He squeezes his hand around the phone. This isn't fair. This isn't fair and John never should have been an idiot. Never should have thrown it all away. Why would he do something like this? It doesn't even make any sense.

So many things had changed recently. John's been more active in fencing lessons. He's been smiling more. Laughing more. He and Alex were closer than ever. They all went out to eat. Watched movies. Enjoyed each other's companionship. Things were good. They were very good.

Clearly being  _ very good  _ wasn't enough for John.  _ "Imbecile,"  _ Lafayette growls out. He clenches his fist and slams it down onto the bed.  _ "Imbecile. Imbecile. Imbecile." _

It doesn't matter. Lafayette doesn't care. He told John he wasn't going to care. He told John that he was going to leave John to rot if he went back. Said that it wasn't going to be worth his time to pick up the pieces of John's sobriety every time he decided to play the game.

They'd made a plan. They'd made a plan for good things. Break was coming up and they were going to do something fun. Alex was even going to come along. And John's ruined it. Ruined everything.

He obviously didn't  _ care _ . It obviously didn't matter at all to him. He just took and he took and he took. And when he'd played pretend enough times – he  _ left _ . Like a coward. A thief in the night.  _ "Casse-toi, John Laurens,"  _ Lafayette hisses. Sitting up again. His legs swing off the bed.

His hands clench down onto the edge of the mattress. He breathes harshly through nose. His head feels like its spinning. The cell phone winks at him innocently. If he doesn't follow through with his threat, then John's going to know that he can keep pushing boundaries. He's going to know that he can keep messing up. That someone's always going to be there.

Lafayette knows that if you back down you'll show your cards. Show that you're weak. That you're not willing to take a stand. To be forceful.

_ But is it worth proving a point if it ends up with John dead? _

Lafayette drags his hands in front of him. The cell phone stares up. Laughing at him. He taps the screen. Dials a number. "Herc...? I need your help."


	32. Chapter 32

“You know Madison was real insistent that we don’t give you anything you ask for. Said you were trying to get clean.” There’s someone kneeling on either side of John’s body. Face appearing like a splotchy smear. The voice is light and friendly. Feminine. He laughs.

That’s the real joke of it all. Isn’t it?

Fingers trail across John’s face. “Heard you were on the straight and narrow.” His hand feels heavy. But he lifts them anyway. Braces the girl on either side of her hips. She leans down and kisses him. Skin against skin. Pressure and wet. She pulls back. Reaches for something.

Returns holding a pill in front of his face. Her lips spread like the Charleston skyline. John watches as the pill is placed on the flat of her tongue. She’s waiting for him to come to her. And he does. He leans forward and cups the back of her head. Pulling her down to he can chase the pill on his own. She grinds low.

He shifts. Pulling her closer. Letting her press herself tight against his groin. The pill’s transferred. He swallows it back. Blinks up at the ceiling as he shifts away. Letting his hands fall back to his sides.

“You gay boys are all the same,” she sighs. “You want what you want. Until you don’t want it.” She steps back and lets him float.

Lets him sit there and watch the stains on the ceilings shift and move. Shadows are chasing sunlight. Fighting across his vision. His skin feels hot and cold. His stomach curls unpleasantly. But it’s temporary.

Everything is temporary.

John tilts his head back farther. Lets himself sink into the abyss. His lips keep pulling back into a smile.

It’s better than the alternative. Better than the listening to voicemails on repeat. Better than thinking about—

He’s not thinking about it.

He’s floating.

And floating is nice.

Floating is indefinite. It can stretch out until the edges of eternity.

He should have left it off. Kept letting Madison delete messages. But the curiosity had killed him. In the end. It’s always that.

He lets his body list to the side. The couch is filthy. Swirls and patterns are moving around. Eating themselves. Throwing up. There are stains formed and forming on it as he lays there. Someone strokes a hand through his hair. “You never did talk much.”

He has nothing to say to her. Barely remembers her name. Knows that in the end it doesn’t matter. Monroe didn’t have what he wanted. Jefferson turned him away. Told him that Madison made it clear John’s not getting jack shit from him.

_ Which is cute,  _ Jefferson had told him. Tapping his face.  _ So cute.  _ John doesn’t have it in him to argue. Especially not when he’d specifically asked Madison for his help.

“Bad night?” the girl won’t stop talking. Seems to enjoy it. From the psych books on her table, John half wonders if this is her major. Her interest. Drug students on campus and see what they say while they’re high.

Fascinating research study.

He closes his eyes. Groans.

Pressure’s been building behind his eyes. And his skin feels cold and clammy. He wants to curl under blankets and cease to exist. Push it all out. Knowing it won’t come back again. Her hands haven’t stopped stroking his hair. Tucking it behind his ears.

He’s dizzy. His legs don’t work. He stands. Falls. His face presses against the carpet. 

A toe pokes his shoulder. The ducks on the couch are flying.

He laughs. He’s taken too much. Hallucinating on this is rare. He’s taken too much. The ducks splash against the wall. Smearing feathers and paint. He laughs again. The couch is smiling at him. The cushions forming brows. Inviting and murderous. Shadows are sword fighting on the wall.

The girl’s standing in front of him.

Then she’s not. Gone in a blink. Pressure against his arm. He flinches. He didn’t know she had moved. Didn’t see it. She’d just vanished. Reappeared. Touching him. He swats her away. “Look. I’m helping you up.” She is.

She tugs him to his feet and settles him back on the couch. Even gets a blanket and throws it at his face. He opens and closes his mouth. It’s dry. Uncomfortable. The couch is eating him. Mouthing at his back and legs.

John’s stomach rolls. His head aches harder. He reaches a hand up. Presses it to his head. It’s spinning round and round like a top. Rotating three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. He’s an owl. Wide eyes and blinking out. Mouth open. Vomitus food coming and going.

“I want another,” he tells her. She isn’t impressed.

A jingle jangle fills the room. It sounds like a movie he liked once. Can’t remember the name. Doesn’t matter. He rolls into the couch’s mouth. Stretches out along its tongue. Nuzzles his face against ducks. “This Alex has called you twelve time.” The girl announces. She holds the phone in front of his face. Waving it about.

He likes that phone. Bought it so he could talk to Alex whenever.

Now isn’t whenever. Now is time for no Alex talk.

He doesn’t want to think of Alex.

Alex will be upset. Or he’ll say things that John doesn’t believe. He shakes his head and turns away.

The jingle jangle gets louder.

“Aaaaand Lafayette now?” John flinches. Shakes his head again. Presses his hands to his eyes. Blocking out the ducks.

“Just leave me alone,” he requests. She huffs.

“Whatever you say, man.” The phone is turned off for good. She tosses it to the side.

John’s grateful. The ducks are coming. And the couch is going to eat him. It’s much more important. He doesn’t want to think about Lafayette. He knows what he’s going to say.

_ Never come back. _

“Okay,” John whispers.

“What’s that?” the girl asks.

He doesn’t reply. Just wraps his arms tight around his body, and waits for the couch to eat him whole. 


	33. Chapter 33

To his credit, Hercules doesn't say 'I told you so.' Lafayette almost wants him. Almost wants to hear him say it, because at least then it'll put the waiting to rest. He won't need to be blindsided by it like he was with Alex...Hercules' disapproval will have already been expressed loud and clear.

Then again. Hercules is listening to Alex's voice berating Lafayette on the phone. Hears how Alex makes it perfectly clear this entire mess is Lafayette's fault. John’s never hid before. Never tried to pretend he wasn't using. Never tried to stay underground because he was too frightened to come back. "Fuck you  _ very  _ much," Alex snaps. "He's out there and it's  _ your  _ fault."

And in his generosity, Hercules doesn’t verbally agree. Instead, they listen together as Alex continues shouting. Lafayette has no defense. No words came to mind. How many people had told him to be careful since he met John? How many people had he ignored? Hercules sits beside him in the car, and never says 'I told you so' too. Just waits. Supportive and quiet. 

Minutes later, Alex’s phone is passed to someone else. Apparently Alex had drafted Madison's roommate to the cause as well. He’d plucked the phone from Alex’s hand, quietly berating Alex in the process. "John's more important than this," he reminds Alex briskly, before his voice sounded more clearly into the phone. Speaking to Lafayette directly. "Where are you searching?" 

"I...don't know." He lifts a hand to his head. Doesn't know what to say. "You're friends?" he asks wearily.

"I just met Alex an hour ago," Aaron replies, sounding just as confused as Lafayette. "Apparently I wasn't doing anything more important." That sounds like something Alex would say. Especially considering his current mood… "Either way, I'm willing to help you look."

Lafayette's not going to argue against help. Especially as Aaron promises to keep Alex from killing someone. It's the best they can do.

He rings off, and promises to provide an update later.

Leaving Hercules and Lafayette to go to all the likely places they can think of. All the while, Hercules' hands are tight around the steering wheel. Gritting his teeth. Frustrated and Upset. He still doesn’t say it. Even though he should. 

Even though it’s evident in the way Hercules’ mood sours by the moment. They've been here before, Lafayette knows. Been in this exact situation desperately trying to find help. 

"I'm...sorry..." Lafayette tries to say. Hoping to circumvent the proclamation that never comes. 

Leather creaks beneath Hercules' fingers. "We're going to find John," he says. "We're going to find him, and you're going to  _ stop  _ pretending you're an insensitive ass. Because John trusts you, and he needs to know that you're going to be there for him." There's a pause. A moment where Lafayette's certain that he's going to say that awful phrase. Instead, Hercules says: "And you  _ will  _ be there for him."

Lafayette nods. Instinctively. Habitually. He bites his bottom lip. Curls his fingers into fists.

One hour passes.

Two.

Alex calls them back. When Lafayette answers immediately. He isn't surprised that Alex is already speed talking. There are voices in the background, Madison and Burr arguing about something, and being drowned out by Alex's rapid fire prose. " _ Thomas Jefferson  _ is the biggest ass this side of the Mason Dixon line."

"Who?" Lafayette asks. He puts it on speaker for Hercules to hear.

"Jefferson. He's – you know what? It doesn't matter. He's an  _ ass.  _ He said that it's not his responsibility to track John down because who  _ cares  _ about John.  _ I  _ care about John. I care about John a lot and Jefferson’s an  _ ass _ ."

Alex takes a breath, and Hercules cuts in before he can continue his tirade "Did he say anything that could be useful?"

Madison’s shouting 'I'm not defending him! He just has a right to make that decision! Even if it's wrong!'

"Only that Lee couldn’t have been supplying John and John probably went to find someone else who can….paying anyway he could."

So they’ve migrated from John just getting high, to John prostituting himself for drugs. Again. A sharp flare of fury coats Lafayette’s vision. Almost blinding in its intensity.  _ How dare someone put their hands on— _

"—Any idea who the next contender is?" Hercules asks.

Huffing laughter, bitter and old bounces across the phone's speaker. It's the exact sound that Lafayette has never wanted to live through. The exact tone that Lafayette knew would happen if this continued. The sound of someone who was fully aware that everything was going to hell, but still marched forward headlong anyway.

Defeated and unsurprised, loyalty draining from every breath, but equally dragging them down in a physical pull toward defeat. Lafayette had made it a point to stay away from such things. To avoid such feelings.

He'd told John he wasn't going to follow him. Wasn't going to do this.

_ Damn it.  _ It’s not fair. It's not fair, and Lafayette hates listening to Alex sounding like that. Hates everything about this.

He misses the next few things Alex says. It's uninformative anyway. Alex announces his next place he's looking. Assembles his troops. Heads off again. Hercules throws on his directional and puts them back on the road to Teller's.

If only to see if John's body had been dumped somewhere. Lafayette flinches badly. Raises a hand to his mouth. He can see it clearly. John immobile on the ground. Dark eyes faded away into nothingness. "Pull over," Lafayette orders Hercules. He does.

Doesn't even question it. Just pulls to the side in time for Lafayette to throw open the door and vomit on the ground. He coughs up fluid. Bile burning his esophagus. Hercules doesn't move to get out of the car. Doesn't offer to help. Just drops his hands from the steering wheel and waits him out.

Alex's words keep circling through Lafayette's head.  _ This is all your fault. This is all your fault. _

And he's right.

It is.


	34. Chapter 34

“What the hell is wrong with you?” John flinches awake. The blankets on his body wrapped around him in a tight constrictive wrap. Choking. Suffocating. He looks up.

“You’re not here,” he breathes out. His father is standing in front of him. He’s mad. Getting down in his face. Mouth pressed into a tight line. The broad span of his shoulders is terrifying. His twisted features are threatening.  He reaches for John, and John  _ scrambles. _

Pitching off the couch. Hitting the ground. The blankets are tangled around his legs. Wrapped up so tight that he can’t manage to break free. He thrashes. Legs burning under the strain. He chokes. Screams. Throws his hands out to try to shove his father back.

He goes. Goes. Falling. Hits a table. There’s blood everywhere. 

John jerks free. Feet finding traction. He doesn’t stop to look at the man. Doesn’t stop to inspect the blood trail left beneath him. Spreading wide across the floor. Drowning the ducks. Making the couch shrink back in disgust.

Hallucinations appear in 1% of severe cases. Right now?  _ He’s severe _ . John shakes his head. Stumbles. Runs. He’s cold. He’s really really cold. He shoves his hands against the door of the house. Falls into the street.

Light burns around John’s body. He looks up. Martha. Standing in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to him.

He shakes his head. Shakes everything. He’s trembling violently. His lungs aren’t working properly. He can’t breathe. His vision is fading in and out. He throws up. Aims it to the side and manages to bulls-eye some azaleas.

Martha’s gone. His father’s back. Stalking right through her and reappearing to the left. He reaches for John. Burning pain flares up John’s arm. He jerks away and pushes the man back. Lungs seizing in panic. Desperation. He runs. Runs as fast as he can. Trying to get away. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to think. 

_ “I know what you did, Jack!”  _

John trips. Knees driving into a rock on the ground. Something sharp snapped through him. He sobs. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know. Everything’s on repeat. The world is on repeat. He can’t make it stop. He doesn’t know where to go. He’s terrified. This isn’t supposed to be happening.

He doesn’t want this. He just wants to sleep.

He only ever wanted to sleep.

Martha’s walking toward him. She’s walking toward him. Face pale. Tears streaking down to her chin. She’s sobbing. “You did this to me,” she accuses.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She reaches for him.

Her fingers are claws. Her mouth is twisting in a snarl. “This is  _ your  _ fault!”

He scrambles up. With one hand swinging out, he slaps it against her face. She vanishes as if she’d never existed to begin with.

He slips.

Falling and tumbling. Rolling backwards. The hill stretching on for eternity. Bruises burst across his skin. He’s used to this. He’s familiar with this sensation. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay.

John rolls across the grass. Rocks digs into his stomach. His shoulder. His hips. He comes to a stop. And he lays there. He’s tired of trying to pick himself back up again. He’s always trying to pick himself up again, and he doesn’t know why.

The hallucinations are auditory visual. If he keeps his eye closed. If he puts his hands over his ears. He won’t hear them. He won’t see them. He can stay like this. Stay like this and not think of anything at all.

It’s all he wants.

His heartbeat is pounding away so fast beneath his ribs, he’s certain he’s going to pass out. He’s going to lose consciousness. And that’d be good too. He’d like that. He can just sleep this off. Whatever this is. He can sleep, and he won’t have to think. Won’t have to listen. Won’t have to be a part of whatever horror show he’s signed himself up for again.

He wishes he could just stop making these decisions. Wishes that there’s a part of him that can accept that this isn’t helping. But it did. It did help. It helped the moment after he heard the voicemail and went to Teller’s. Helped the first moment that he knocked back the liquor and the pills, desperate for the effect to come that much faster.

Helped when he felt his body wrapped up tight. Felt his mind turn to sludge and everything else could  _ stop  _ because he was done. And he didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to listen to Madison’s voice telling him that he’s on his honeymoon. That the worst times are yet to come.

They’re not  _ yet to come. _

They’re  _ here. _

And he doesn’t want to deal with them. He doesn’t want to think through them. He’s tired. He’s tired of this. Tired of everything. So tired.

A sound blares through his mind, and he tries to will it away. Tries to ignore the fact that every part of his body is screaming for redemption. He doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t need it. “I just wanted to be your friend,” Martha tells him.

“Never come back,” Lafayette reminds him.

And he chokes on his breath. Tears pressing against his eyes. Because he’d ruined Martha’s life, and he’d ruined his own chance at happiness. He can’t go home. Can’t see the one person he’d been starting to enjoy himself with. Can’t start pulling himself out because there’s only one place he’s ever going to be.

And it’s right here.

A disappointment. A disappointment with no chance of success secretly hiding within his veins. John closes his eyes. He wants to go to sleep. He wants to stop thinking. He wants the noise to stop.

Tattered and torn to pieces. So cold that he’ll never be able to get warm again. He’s lived his life knowing one simple truth. He will never get what he wants. He doesn’t even know why he tries.


	35. Chapter 35

Hercules slams on the breaks. Lafayette needs to throw his hands out to catch himself on the dash. Even then, his ribs burn from the snap of the seatbelt going taught. The car skids to a stop on the side of the road, and Hercules is up out of the vehicle and running before Lafayette can unbuckle his strap.

It takes him less than five seconds. Then he's rushing behind Hercules. Moving as quickly as he can. Longer legs covering strides with greater ease. Hercules vaults the guard rail and slides down the embankment. Coming to a stop at the crumpled body lying curled up beside the overpass. Dark jacket making him nearly invisible.

"Oh fuck, oh _fuck—_ " Hercules reaches out. Is slower than Lafayette who snatches John by the shoulders and hoists him upright. John's eyes are open. Sort of. They list down towards his cheeks and flutter as he sways badly.

"John?" Lafayette presses his hands to John's cheeks. He's cold. _Far too cold_. It's been forty degrees all day, and while John's lips haven't turned blue yet – Lafayette can guess that they're close.

John's not even shivering. Just kneeling on the half frozen ground, limp and paler than a ghost. He's not looking at Lafayette. Just staring at someplace over his shoulder. Barely conscious. "John, look at me," Lafayette breathes out. Adrenaline's pouring through him. Hercules leaves. Runs back to the car. He's got his cell phone in his hand. "Lapin. Lapin, come on, look at me," Lafayette requests. Shaking John just a little.

Brown eyes flick up to meet his face. John's lips fall apart. He's got tears in his eyes. _Mon Dieu..._ he hadn't even realized who'd grabbed him. Pulled him up. Not until just now. And   
now..."I'm sorry...I'm sorry I didn’t mean...I'm sorry."

He's _sobbing_. Lafayette ducks his arms under John's body. "It's okay. It's okay. We will work it out, yes? It's okay.”

"You said—you said—"

"I know. I know. I shouldn't. I shouldn't have said that. Come. We're going home, yes? Home? With Elle and fencing? Would you like that? To go home?" He picks John up. Muscles barely noticing the strain. John's always been light. But tonight he feels lighter than usual. Hercules is back. Phone pressed to one ear. Blanket wrapped over one arm. He drapes it around John's body.

John doesn't notice. Just keeps apologizing. "Hospital?" Hercules asks.

It’s the last place John wants to go. Last place that Lafayette wants to take him. But there’s a difference between wanting something, and needing something. Lafayette adjusts his hold around John’s body. “John?”

He’s not paying attention. He’s still apologizing into Lafayette’s pit. Tears falling from his eyes. “Lapin, I need you to tell us what to do.”

The apologies haven’t stopped. Lafayette looks up at Hercules. Helpless.

Hercules presses his lips together tight. He looks at John. Looks at Lafayette. Then brings the phone back to his mouth. “We’re going back to Laf’s.”

He hangs up, and then places a hand on Lafayette’s back. “He’s conscious. And he’s breathing. Let’s get him home. If he gets worse, we’ll take him to the hospital.” It’s a sound idea. Lafayette _knows_ that. But. It’s terrifying.

Anything could go wrong. John’s lying limp in Lafayette’s arms, and he’s already messed this up so badly to start with. He doesn’t want to mess something else up. He can’t. He can’t do that. He can’t. He hugs John close. Forces his feet forward.

They have to get him warm. If he’s not warm he’s going to catch cold. Catch cold and get sick. He’s already not in good health. Getting sick is going to be worse. He needs to do better. He has to do better.

John could have died tonight. And it’d have been his fault.

It’d have been his fault.

The car door opens. Lafayette braces John carefully and gets in slowly. Feels how John curls closer to his chest. Sobbing even harder. Hysterically. Apologies falling from his mouth so quickly Lafayette has no idea if John even knows what he’s saying.

“I forgive you. I forgive you, it’s all right,” Lafayette promises. Hoping that John can hear him. Hoping John can understand him.

Hercules starts the car up. Pulls it around.

The reaction is immediate.

John goes from miserable sobbing to panicked thrashing in seconds. “No. No I don’t—stop no!” He throws a hand out and it catches Lafayette across the face. His skin turns numb immediately. Swelling. Puffing about his lips. John kicks out. Rolls from Lafayette’s lap between the seats. He’s stuck. Can’t get the dexterity to move. To sit up right. To get into position.

Hercules curses in the front. Lafayette ignores him, snatching John and pulling him upright. He wraps his arms around John, pinning him down. “Shhh…shh…lapin hush. It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re going home.”

“Get off me. Get off me. I can’t. I can’t. I have to—” John’s mouth shuts. His body goes limp. For a moment Lafayette’s convinced that John’s fainted. But his eyes are open. His heart beats wildly under Lafayette’s palm. His breath is too stilted and short.

The car rumbles forward. Speed increasing just a little. Lafayette catches Hercules’ eyes in the rearview. He looks sick. Mouth pressed in a thin line. His skin is ghostly in the pre-dusk night.

It takes less then ten minutes to get to Lafayette’s house. And when they’re there, Alex, Madison, and Burr are already waiting for them. John’s not moved since his panic. Is lying so still and so quiet that Lafayette wants to take him to the hospital anyway. Just to make sure they haven’t missed something.

But they’re here now. And instead, he picks John back up. Holds him as Alex rushes forward. Hands moving to touch John’s body. John’s unresponsive. Just staring up at the sky. “It’s not your fault,” Alex says. He’s not talking to Lafayette. And Lafayette doesn’t understand what he means.


	36. Chapter 36

John wakes up in Lafayette’s bed. 

He’s curled on his side. One leg lying straight, the other curled over Lafayette’s hip. His head is pressed against Lafayette’s shoulder. His hands tucked into his chest. There are blankets wrapped over both of them. 

He’s warm. Warmer than he thought he’d ever be again. Lafayette’s steady breath is a metronome. In and out with each passing second. Lafayette’s fingers are stroking his hair. The fire is gone. The ducks don’t exist. John’s aware he’s conscious. 

But he’s tired. 

Too tired to think. 

If he closes his eyes again, he won’t need to exist awake. Won’t need to talk. To explain what happened. Someone’s talking quietly to someone else, and it seems like they’ve got the talking covered between them all. 

He doesn’t understand why Lafayette came for him. Only vaguely is aware of the fact that Lafayette had been there. Picking him up off the ground and carrying him to the car. He thinks someone else was there too, but he’s not sure who. Not sure of the specifics. 

The rest of last night...or at least what he thinks was last night….have faded into obscurity. Patch-like stamps of confusing swirls that don’t make sense. Colors and smells and sensations that leave him feeling drained and complete. 

_ Too much, too fast.  _ That seems like a good summary of the experience. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s just enough to alert Lafayette to his consciousness. The hand in his hair stills. Then starts up again. Slowly. Gently. It doesn’t stop. John can feel his heart starting to thump painfully in his chest cavern. Any moment Lafayette’s going to say something. Going to tell him that he needs to get ready. 

He’s going to have to start from scratch. Maybe not as bad as before. But he’s going to feel like shit for days, and it’s his fault. Again. Just like everything else is always his fault. 

The voices keep shifting about from one person to the next. Filling the room with varying states of enthusiasm. Impassioned arguments getting thwarted by calm prose. John’s fingers start trembling against Lafayette’s side. 

He can’t will himself back to sleep. Can’t force himself to drift away no matter how many times he commands himself to. He doesn’t want to listen to them talk. Doesn’t care what they’re saying, even. He just wants them to do it somewhere he doesn’t have to see them. 

_ Somewhere,  _ so he can patch himself up in piece. Find the smile he lost when he listened to that voicemail, and pull it up from the trash bin. Wipe off the debris and staple it into position so the world can see him happy. So the world can tell he’s glad. 

Lafayette pulls the blanket up. It covers his hand. Hides its trembling from view. He moves again. This time to gently take John’s palm in his. “We should have this discussion later, non?” Lafayette asks placidly. For a moment, John’s certain that he’s talking to him. But then. 

The voices around them settle into silence. There’s a nudge from someone. An encouraging request to push them out. Footsteps stand. Someone - Alex - says he’s going to make food. Alex stress bakes. 

John’s breath hitches. He presses his head even harder against Lafayette’s chest. Lafayette hugs him tight. 

The door opens. 

It closes. 

There’s silence. 

“Do you want me to go?” Lafayette asks him. He sounds exhausted. Like he hasn’t slept in days. John knows what that feels like. He hates that he’s put Lafayette in a position to feel it as well. 

He can’t speak. The words won’t come. And he doesn’t know what he wants in any case. He squeezes Lafayette’s body tighter. 

Lafayette lets him. Doesn’t make him say a word. Doesn’t make him get up. Take a cold shower. Doesn’t make him swallow down food or water. Doesn’t make him do anything. They just lay together. Lafayette’s fingers trailing through John’s hair in a constant and repetitious motion. 

It’s nice. A kind of grounding sensation that John doesn’t ever want to let go of. He can feel Lafayette’s heart beneath his ear. When he shifts, he can feel Lafayette’s legs underneath him. Someone’s changed John’s clothes. His jeans have been replaced with too big sleep bottoms. They cover his toes when he moves his legs. 

His shirt’s long-sleeved and warm. 

He even smells somewhat okay. John can’t smell any scent of vomit, mud, or debris that shrouds his body with miasma whenever he’s finished at  _ her  _ house. He wants to ask about it. Wants to say something. 

But the wants fade away into nothingness. He doesn’t want to want. Doesn’t want to think. There are tears pressing at his eyes. He ducks his head against Lafayette’s pit. “I’m not going to leave,” Lafayette tells him. “Not...not unless you want me to.” 

“Said you would,” John chokes out. Letting his mouth speak without his brain. It’s the only way to force words into existence. 

“I couldn’t do it. So. I’m not going to leave. And if you want this. If you...if you want this. I’ll be here. And we’ll figure it out.” 

“There’s no fixing this.” John forces his eyes open. It’s such an effort. He looks up. Stares at Lafayette’s face. 

_ Christ. He’s tired.  _ John’s never seen Lafayette look so worn. He’s a sheet of wool with tufts being pulled out in all directions. Leaving holes behind in their wake. And this is John’s fault too. Lafayette looking like this.

“I’m too broken to be fixed.”

“No you’re not.” Lafayette shakes his head. Lifts his palm to press it against John’s face. It’s so warm. John could rest his head against this palm for all of eternity. “You’re not too broken. And...and I can put you back together. If you want. Please. Please want that?” John doesn’t know what he wants. But he rests his head against Lafayette’s hand, and he agrees. 

He’s too empty to argue. 


	37. Chapter 37

Madison sets a cup of tea in front of Lafayette. It’s not the first time they’ve met, but it’s close to it. Before all of this, the last time Lafayette saw Madison, he’d been waving John off to head to his night job while John returned to Lafayette’s care.

John described Madison as a genuinely kind person who happened to be a drug dealer. With a stable family and a stable schooling career, Madison tended to be the last thing that Lafayette thought of when he thought of dealers.

Then again. He’d seen Lee about to fuck John’s mouth. It colored his opinion a little.

From what he can tell, though, Madison is exactly as John described. He makes tea. He offers quiet advice. And he doesn’t complain or protest when the arguments start mounting on all fronts. _“Next to Alex,”_ John had explained weeks ago, _“He’s the closest friend I’ve got.”_ And his loyalty shows. He’s weathering a storm. Knowing full well that half the people in the house blame him for what happened. And the other half have likely just not formed a solid opinion yet.

For whatever reason, Aaron’s still here as well. He seems content with helping Alex make food. Getting it ready for everyone. Even if it is an absurd assortment, it’s keeping his hands busy. Keeping Alex busy too. Lord knows the kid needs to be kept busy.

Madison attempts to explain, “John’s going to be exhausted for a while...but then again, sleep’s always been touch and go for him.”

Alex isn’t having any of it. He slams a pot down. Grits out, “Like you would know anything about that.” Glaring and hostile. Madison’s fingers twitch. He doesn’t argue. He has every right to argue. But he doesn’t. Just sits down across from Lafayette and invests himself in his own mug of tea.

“From what it looks like, I’d say that James cares about John’s well-being same as you, Alex,” Burr suggested carefully. Though he keeps shooting disapproving looks Madison’s way. Lips pulling down in a frown.

Alex huffs loudly in response. Returning his attention to the kitchen. He’s running out of things to stress bake. All of Lafayette’s ingredients and supplies have been used up. Trays of baked goods line his countertop. All of them sweet and covered in confections. Lafayette can’t imagine eating a single thing.

Hercules rounds the bend to the kitchen. Rubbing at his eyes. “You’re supposed to be staying with John,” Alex accuses immediately.

“And you’re supposed to be civil,” Hercules snaps back. “We’re all a little on edge right now, so can we please stop jumping down each other’s throat?” Alex’s face turns purple. His hands are clenched so tight that Lafayette’s readies himself for the explosion he knows is coming. Instead, Alex finds the strength to breathe in. Breathe out. Cross his arms over his chest. Flop into a chair. Furious. “John’s sleeping. He’s fine. We can spend a few minutes on our own.”

“Yeah, and discuss _what_ exactly?” Alex is in fine form. Ready and willing to keep this fight going for as long as it takes. Hercules lifts a hand to his brow. Rubbing at his temples. Groaning.

“Nothing,” Lafayette yawns. “There’s nothing to discuss. Nothing to talk about. There is no point in going over any of it.”

Madison makes a noise low in his throat. But then nods his head. Humming and casting his eyes in the opposite direction. “John’s back. He’s fine. He’s going to be all right. There’s no need...to discuss this anymore.”

“He just relapsed!” Alex shouted. “He was trying to quit and he relapsed and you just don’t fucking care?”

“You keep accusing people of not caring, _cherie,”_ Lafayette growls out. “And yet every person in this household did nothing but search for John Laurens while he was gone.”

The smaller man’s mouth opened to speak, but Aaron reached out. Settled a hand gently on his shoulder. “It might be a good idea to take a break. Take a step back? Your friend is all right. He’s sleeping. He’s not in any danger.”

It seems to spur Madison back into action as well. “We’ve got class soon too…I can give you a drive back to campus.” Aaron nods at him. And Madison goes to get his keys. He types his number into Lafayette’s cell-phone upon request, and then Aaron attempts to herd Alex out the door.

To be honest, Lafayette’s surprised the younger man is being swayed. Surprised he didn’t park himself at John’s side and refuse to be moved. “He doesn’t need twenty people surrounding him when he wakes up,” Aaron soothes. “And you need to calm down. He’s going to get overwhelmed if you’re panicking in front of him.”

“I am calm,” Alex lied. “I’m relaxed.”

“You’re not. These people? They care about him. They won’t let anything bad happen to him.”

“Lafayette told John—”

“—something that he shouldn’t have. But he’s not saying it now. And John wants to be here. We should give him some room. John might not be ready to handle all these people standing around."

Alex looks like he’s about to cry. He sniffles loud then points a finger at Lafayette. “You better tell me when he wakes up.”

Lafayette agrees.

They leave. Click of the door closing sounding like a gunshot. Lafayette lowers his head into his hand and takes a deep breath. Hercules slumps into the seat Madison vacated. “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

Lafayette doesn’t know. He really wishes he did. Rubbing his hand over his face, he tries to breathe properly. Everything has been such a cluster-fuck for so long, he’s struggling to put anything into terms that he can understand. He’s exhausted. Exhausted and ready for this all to be over. “I said I didn’t want to deal with this,” he muses quietly.

“Tough shit. You love the kid don’t you?”

That’s the crux of his dilemma.

He really does.  


	38. Chapter 38

John wakes up alone. There are blankets piled up all around him. A glass of water set to the side. (He drinks that down in a few quick gulps). He sets it back on his dresser and sits up. Body aching and sore. He’s not as nauseous as he thought he’d be. Surprising, all things considered. He figured he’d be feeling a lot worse this morning. 

Apparently not. 

Instead, when he sits up, muscles only burn a touch. His head spins a little. It’s like the day after a stomach bug. Nothing feels quite right, but nothing’s broken beyond repair. Things are mending. Getting better. 

_ (“There’s something you should know….”)  _

John flinches. Presses his hands over his ears. The voice is in his head. Not spoken out loud. But it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the fact that he can hear it. Can feel the words sinking through his body. Crushing him under an onslaught of emotions he never wanted to feel. 

_ (“Are you happy now? You ungrateful bastard?”) _

Jerking back, John looks around the room. It’s Lafayette’s. And the warm familiarity of it all is cozy and comfortable. He tries to cling to that. Cling to the memories of laying sprawled against Lafayette’s chest. He tries to pretend his body hurts because they’d been fencing for hours. Trading blows back and forth. 

Lafayette standing close behind. Running his hands over John’s body as he put him into position. Sometimes he’d tease the man. Purposefully press backward against him. Listen to his short intake of breath. Grin when Lafayette’s hands turned possessive rather than instructional. 

“Don’t start what you can’t stop,” seemed to be Lafayette’s personal philosophy on life. It’s a motto that John’s more than a little familiar with. One that he should have tattooed on the back of his eyelids. 

His whole life has been a mess of start and stop. Start and stop. Give, and give and give. WIth no taking. Nothing for him to hold onto. 

Except. 

He could hold onto Lafayette. Could take from Lafayette because Lafayette let him take it. Let him fight. Let him expel energy. Never chastised him for  _ wanting  _ blood, just gave him an outlet to let his violence out. 

And he came back. 

John shifts. Hands rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t want to cry right now. Anyone could walk in soon. And he can’t cry. Can’t be seen upset. It only makes things worse. 

But God-damn it. 

Lafayette came back. He came back and he held out his hand. He offered John assistance even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though everything he’d done prior spat in the face of someone who just wanted to help. Even though John knows full well that Lafayette had no intentions of helping him. Had no desire to help him. He felt...guilty. 

And John...doesn’t know how he feels about it. 

He’s a maelstrom. Happy. Sad. Lost. Elated. Terrified. He can’t seem to settle on which one. 

_ (“Everything you touch you break.”) _

Twisting, John slides out of bed. Feet unsteady beneath him. He stumbles. Barely manages to get to the door without falling. But he leans against it. Takes a deep breath. Twists the knob and starts his way down the hall. 

Down the stairs. 

He can press himself against the banister and use it to carry his feet downwards. Voices float up from the kitchen. Soft and quiet. He hears Lafayette’s French accent. At this point, a beacon in the dark. A lighthouse signalling John home. 

John follows it. Listens as Hercules talks right back. “Alex never said what even started this. He tell you?” 

“Between everything else going on, Alex seemed less inclined to be helpful in that regard,” Lafayette mutters in response. John’s head aches. He knows that they’re talking about him. Knows that they’ll all be talking about him for a while yet. 

Leaning against a wall, just out of view, he tries to rally his thoughts. Get himself ready to stand before them. His chest aches. His head is spinning. He wants to collapse against Lafayette and let Lafayette just hold him together. 

It’s unfair of him to ask for that. Selfish. He has to stop being so selfish. His selfishness is what led to this madness. What led to this moment. He’d been so God-damned selfish and now...now…

He swats at his eyes. 

_ Don’t think about it.  _

It’s hard not to. Martha’s been living in his head, his body, his phone, for almost a year now. She’s infected him like a virus. She’s refused to let him go on his own. Every day he wakes up and Martha is there. Reminding him of his failures. Reminding him of how useless he is. 

John’s exhausted by it. He wants to forget everything about it. But he can’t. And now he doesn’t think he’ll ever be set free. Not even sure it’s something he’ll ever achieve. His head aches and his blood sings. Nothing feels right at all. Everything is black and stilted. There’s an anchor digging into his frontal lobe. Protruding from his skull. Attached to a ship that pulls him forward. He has only one choice, and it’s to move. 

There is no forgiveness in death. There is only more guilt. 

“Sometimes people don’t need a  _ reason, _ ” Hercules mutters. “They just…” 

But that’s worse. 

It’s worse if they think that he just decided  _ fuck it. I’m getting high.  _ Because he’d been trying. He’d been trying for Lafayette. And he failed. He failed. And he put Martha first. And that wasn’t right. She deserved so much more than him. He deserved so much more than her. 

But. 

But. 

He doesn’t want Lafayette to think he hadn’t cared. He’d cared. It had meant a lot. Even if it hadn’t in the beginning. 

And God-damn it. 

He tried. 

John takes a step forward. Rounds the bend. He waits until Hercules can see him. Lafayette’s back is to him. It doesn’t matter. John opens his mouth. And he speaks. 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of suicide attempt, unsuccessful

"Martha Manning attempted suicide on Monday." Lafayette sets his teacup down. John’s in the doorway. Staring straight ahead. Inspecting the chipped wood on the wall. He’d spoken so quietly, so abruptly, that Lafayette had almost missed it. He hadn’t. But it’d been a near thing. He shifted. Leaned closer.

"Who is Martha Manning?" Lafayette asks. John shrugs his shoulders. Squeezes his arms across his chest even tighter.

Ordinarily, Lafayette would wait him out. However, John is capable of waiting them _all_ out until the moment he self destructs. Until the moment he looks back at you, and you know for a fact he's going to make a bad decision, and there's nothing you can do about it. Lafayette's tired of waiting John out.

He stands. Walks over. Takes John’s face between his palms and forces his head up. John's eyes flick over his face. Pausing briefly to maintain an illusion of eye-contact, before skittering away. _"Lapin?"_

"We used to date in high-school," John excuses quietly. "We had a falling out. She and Alex got into a few fights. My father got involved...it wasn't good."

The story seems bizarrely incomplete. So close, Lafayette can see how John's body is wound tight. A clock preparing to burst under pressure. Cuckoo bird singing its last song. "You still care for her?" he hazards.

Silence is more telling, at times, than words. John is silent. His expression isn't thoughtful. It's pained. His lips tremble. His tongue darts out. His right cheek twitches. A wince? A shudder? "I don’t want her to die."

You can not want a great many people to die, but that doesn't cause a relapse. It doesn't cause this kind of pain. “Do you want to see her?”

“No,” John says it so fast Lafayette frowns. John’s hands are clenched tight. He’s biting his lip. Expecting his request to be denied.

“Are you sure?” Hercules asked. “Might make it better? Seeing her? Knowing she’s okay.”

“I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to know anything about her. I don’t want to—I—”John’s mouth snaps closed. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

Over Lafayette's shoulder, Hercules asks, "John, what do you want us to do?" John doesn't answer.

He twists his head away from Lafayette's grasp. Steps back. Shrugging his shoulders even as he bows his back. Curly hair falling into his face. "If you don’t want to see her..." John's eyes flick to the door. Hugging his body even closer. "There are places _you_ can go to that will help you with thi—"

"—I'm not." John stops. "I'm not going to rehab. I don't need it."

Hercules manages to not scoff. But it’s a near thing. "You were out all nigh—"

"—I know." John looks up. Lafayette shifts so the two men can look at each other fully. Without him standing in the way. Watching their stories play out. He is so tired of this. "I know."

For a moment, Lafayette thinks it might be left at that. Thinks that Hercules might drop it. Let John off the hook. "It's okay to ask for help," Hercules says. "It's okay to ask for—"

"—I'm asking not to go." There's defeat growing in John's body. Starting to shift his position. Bend his neck toward the ground. His shoulders slump. His posture deflates. He'll give in the next pass.

 _That's not fair._ Lafayette presses his lips together. When Hercules starts to argue his point one last time, Lafayette moves between them once more. Back to John. Chin up. "He does not want to go."

His friend sputters. Shakes his head. "Gil...he doesn't know what he wants."

Behind him, Lafayette can hear John's quick intake of breath. Can practically feel him trembling. "He's not a _child_ . He's not incompetent. He's an adult. Capable of making his own decisions. He doesn't want to go. So he's _not_ going."

"Gil—

"—He has a right to choose, _mon frère._ He has a right to decide."

Hercules takes in a deep breath. Lets it out. Gathers his thoughts. He's not thinking about John, though. He's thinking about another young man. Another _boy_ who made a series of bad decisions. Who was hurt a long time ago. Who isn't fully recovered. "His decisions right now might not be the best—”

"—Then they will not be the best. And we will go from there."

"You _don't_ know what you're talking about."

"I know that you will lose him if you do this." Because isn't that what happened? What keeps causing the tension between Hercules and his family? What makes this so damn hard for Hercules to stay objective? His friend's jaw clamps down, eyes narrowing.

They've known each other for a long time. They rarely disagreed. Not on things that were important. Childish opinions had been left long ago. This is different. Personal. "Because you handled things so well when you told him not to come back if he used again."

Sharp pain circled about Lafayette's chest. Spearing him from sternum to spine. The words, _This is all my fault_ , echo through his head. A long lost refrain appearing at the top of act two. Reminding the audience who's truly to blame. Who couldn't be trusted.

He resists the urge to curse. Resists the urge to say anything. There's a lot he could say. A lot that he could return fire with. Hercules may know how to harm Lafayette, but Lafayette knows the same in reverse.

He doesn't, though. Just nods his head. Turns on his heel. Takes hold of John's arm and hauls him down into the basement. Pushing him to descend as Lafayette locks the door behind them. John trips and stumbles on the steps. Coming to a stop at the bottom.

Turning to look at Lafayette, face pale. "What are you doing?" John asks. Lafayette takes his hand once more. Sitting them both down.

"Not letting you go."

A clock ticks. But there they sit. Together in silence. Quiet, and undisturbed.


	40. Chapter 40

There's a mini-fridge in the basement. Lafayette keeps it stocked with fruits and juices. Water. When he hears John's stomach growl, Lafayette scurries toward it. Piling a paper plate with goods and returning to John's side.  _ Please don't,  _ John thinks. Hands taking the plate mechanically.  _ Please stop. _

He doesn't want to eat. Doesn't want to feel the juices squelching between his teeth. Sliding down his throat. Doesn't even want to be trapped down here in the basement when the rest of the world spins on just up above.

Lafayette isn't paying attention to that. He kneels before John, earnest and desperate.  _ Please let me do something right,  _ written all over his face. He wants this. Wants this more than John can possibly understand. Nor wants to understand. He's so tired of thinking about the different ways that he needs to analyze Lafayette.

"You came back," he settles on. Because Lafayette wants to talk. Wants to know. Wants, wants, wants.

It must be nice to want.

And it must be even more nice to receive what you want.

Dark fingers push at a grape. Rolling it closer to John's left thumb. He watches it go. Follows it's uneven path. "I was wrong," Lafayette says quietly. "Hercules says so too,  _ non?"  _ He tries to smile.

"You're fighting with your friends because of me."

"It's not fighting. It's disagreeing. It doesn't matter. It's your choice."

John hates that phrase. It's not his choice. It's never his choice. Someone is going to always make it for him. So what does it even  _ matter?  _ If Hercules is kept at bay, then it'll just be Alex. Madison. Someone. Anyone else. They'll decide, and John will say yes because he's tired of fighting. It's too much work to maintain an opinion. Too much effort to say whether he wants it one way or another.

And isn't that a choice on his own? Just saying yes? Just going along with it? When is his choice no longer his choice? When is it someone else's? Does it even  _ matter  _ anymore?

"John?" Lafayette asks. John looks up.

This is all a temporary measure. An awkwardly placed bandaid on skin soaked wet. Adhesive not strong enough to hold on. Ready to tear only seconds after being placed. And Lafayette is going to leave. Just like he said he would.

One rare moment of charity doesn't mean that it will keep on. Everyone feels guilt once in their life. Lafayette just didn't want a dead body on his conscience. John can't even say he blames him. Who would want something like that?

_ It's your fault.  _ John's eyes sting. He swats at them. Breath hitching as he tries to control the onslaught. Pathetic. Weak. Absurd. Lafayette places a hand on John's knee, and John flinches back. Presses his body so firm against the wall he can feel his spine realigning. "Please don't." The hand falls back down. It doesn't advance. Doesn't threaten to make contact. Doesn't push forwards.

They've touched hundreds of times. Thousands of times. And yet. Right now...John doesn't want to feel it. Doesn't want to feel anything. John pulled his knees closer to his chest. Ducked his forehead against legs. He's exhausted. Should have just stayed in bed. That would have been better.         

Lafayette settles back on his heels. His hands falling to the ground at his sides. He's staring at John. John can feel the eyes burning holes into the top of his head. John knows should leave. Should leave and go back to his dorm. Get back to classes. He's missed too much. He can't miss class. He can't.

John's body weighs a thousand pounds. His muscles cannot move. He can't pull himself to his feet. Can't walk back up those stairs. The world spins too fast sometimes. And it's spinning too fast for him now.

He needs time to think. But he's not going to get it. He knows that. He knows he doesn't even deserve it. He made a mistake. He was supposed to be getting clean. That was the point of this whole façade. He was supposed to be getting clean, and then he could get his life back on track.

And yet...he can't even remember when the decision to come clean came about. It hadn't been one he'd made. Hadn't even been one that he'd been ready to make. "Why do you want me to stop?" John asks. Lafayette still hasn't moved. Just stares. Waits. "Why do you want me to not use?" he repeats when Lafayette doesn't respond. "I'm not hurting anyone. I'm not causing trouble. I'm not...I'm not even worth the effort you all put in last night. I don't understand. Why is this so important to you?"

Lafayette still doesn't respond. He shifts. Folding down out of his upright kneel. Crossing his legs. Cupping his hands in his lap. He leans forward. They still don't touch, but they're close. Close enough that John can feel Lafayette's body heat starting to rise up.

Upstairs, John can hear footsteps moving around. Hercules hadn't followed them to the door. But it seems he's trying to decide where to go. What to do. John doesn't want to see Alex right now. Doesn't know if he can handle that conversation. It's too much. Too much right now.

"I'm selfish," Lafayette tells John suddenly. John looks up. "I'm selfish. That's the reason. I look at you and I don't want you to be hurt. You are...a good person  _ mon amour.  _ Someone I care for. Someone I could not just let...alone. Could not leave behind. I want you to stop, because I am afraid of your future if you do not. I am afraid that all the beautiful things you create will be gone. That I will wake up one morning and you will not be there. I don't care about why you're using, or all of the many reasons you must have for doing so. I'm just selfish. That's all it is."


	41. Chapter 41

Lafayette walks John to class the next day. Ignoring how John drags his feet the whole while. Lafayette watches as he enters the classroom, and then settles down across the hall. He doesn't have a class now. He can wait.

Taking out his phone, Lafayette stares at the screen. It’s blurry.  _ Fuck.  _ Blinking rapidly, he rubs at his eyes until his vision clears. Then texts,  _ How's your vacation going?  _ to Pierre. He doesn't receive a text back. He hasn't in almost a month. Lafayette's really not used to waiting.

Flipping the phone between his palms, Lafayette listens as a door opens one flight down. Footsteps rush up the stairs. Lafayette looks up as the echoing clamor rounds the bend.

Alex is there. Black hair standing up at the root. Frizzing badly. Rushing forward, he skids to a stop near John's classroom door. Cranes his neck to peer through the window. Checking to see if John's still sitting in class. That he hasn't magically sunk through the floor or fled via window in the past few minutes.

"I just wanted to make sure," Alex mumbles. Abandoning the window to pace. Eight feet one way, eight feet the other. "I'm not trying to control him or anything." Alex' fingers are shaking so bad his arms are vibrating. Lafayette hadn't asked for an explanation, but Alex provides one anyway. "He's an adult. I don't have to worry about him."

"You care,  _ mon petit. _ " Lafayette sighs. Stretching his legs and spine. Attempting to get comfortable along purple painted walls. "You're here because you care."

"He doesn't like this. His dad? His dad never gave a shit? So like. He's used to people not giving a shit. I've known him for years. Since Freshman year of highschool. Did I tell you that?"

"Yes."

"Well. I've known him for years. He doesn’t like this. I know he doesn't like this. I just. I can't not. And Madison said—"Alex cuts himself off. His feet grind to a halt. Lafayette wonders if John could see Alex's frantic pacing. Back and forth and back and forth. He probably could. Lafayette doubts that it's well received. "Madison said that John's not a child. That he doesn't need to be monitored like one. But I. I..."

The younger man looks so despondent, Lafayette throws him a bone. "You're scared." Alex nods. Nods a few times in quick succession before crumpling to the ground at Lafayette's side. Butting his head against Lafayette's arm until he lifts it. Placing it around Alex's shoulders. "I thought you were mad at me?"

Alex's nose sniffs loudly. He presses his head even more firmly against Lafayette's body. Hugging himself close as he presses his knees to Lafayette's thighs. "John likes you."

"So you've said."

"You listen to him." That seems like it came out of left-field. Lafayette frowns. Trying to piece together what Alex could possibly be talking about. "Hercules wants to get him into rehab."

Ah. Apparently as Alex's RA, Hercules had little trouble with speaking to Alex. Of trying to express his point of view. "He believes it will help."

"John doesn't need another hospital." He pauses. Shifts a little. "Doesn't  _ want  _ another hospital." He leaves it at that. Not going into more detail. Not trying to offer an explanation. Not willing to clarify. It doesn't matter. It holds true what Lafayette had suspected a long time ago.

This is John's decision to make. For better or for worse. It's his choice. It will always be his choice. It always has been. Lafayette isn't going to take it away from John. He's not going to let anyone else take it away from him either.

"I had a bad dream," Alex confides. "That you took him away and I never saw him again."

"I won't take him away," Lafayette promises. "I won't keep him from you."

"But he could relapse again."

"Then he does. And we work on it from there. His...support network is here. His family—"

"—his family is awful."

"Not  _ them.  _ Not blood. You are his family,  _ non?  _ You are his brother... _ lover,"  _ Alex flushes at the term. Young, innocent child. Lafayette shakes his head. "You are his family. Who has always been there for him. Since...freshman year of high-school. I will not let anyone take him away from the people who care for him. Not while he is in desperate need for their assistance. Their...caring."

Even as he speaks, Lafayette can feel the stress of the words coming. He leans his head against the wall. Feels the pressure building at the back of his skull. He had no point of reference for this. He had no understanding of what was right or what was wrong. But the words in the back of his head telling him he was being so very  _ selfish _ wouldn't stop. "You care for him."

Alex speaks like he knows what he's talking about. Like it's the answer to an obvious question. Multiple choice. A through D. Do you A. think John Laurens is worthless? B. Think this is a waste of time? C. Care about John Laurens? Or D. None of the above? And in the face of all other answers, the answer must be C.

Lafayette has another suggestion. A write in, one he'd circle in red if he had to. Option E. Do you have no idea what you're doing?

The clock clicks down to the top of the hour. Books start being closed all around the hall. People shift. Chatter starts up immediately. The professor calls out to not forget the reading. Students shuffle out. Lafayette and Alex stand. John is the last one out.

It's been an hour, but Pierre still hasn't texted back. Lafayette feels like a ship lost at sea. With no idea how to find solid ground. He holds out his hand. And John takes it. They start walking to John's next class. Alex falling into place at John's other side. No one knows what to say.


	42. Chapter 42

Lafayette needs to go to class. He gives John a look before he goes. Fingers tightening around John's wrist. John sighs. "I relapsed," he mutters. "I didn't  _ break _ ." He gets a curt nod in response, and then Lafayette's gone. Leaving Alex and John in the quad.

It's a shame. Lafayette's presence seemed to keep Alex from talking too much. And while John usually never minds his friend's chatterbox ways, he's having a hard time managing it now. Has a hard time not speaking up. Assigning blame. Causing more trouble than its worth. It's easier to just blame himself. Not cast it onto someone else. That's not fair to Alex. Especially because Alex didn't mean to. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know.

But seeing Alex pacing about outside his classroom felt like a jail cell. Felt every bit as confining and restricting as rehab would be. Lafayette at least had given him the option. Had even asked if John wanted him to wait. John said yes. So Lafayette waited.

But Alex.

Alex just showed up. Showed up and took over, and it's not fair. And John's not a child. And—

"—Want to go back to your dorm?" Alex asks.  _ No.  _ The idea of being around all those people and their petty arguments is sickening. Everyone always up in each other's business...Kitty Livingston casting shrewd looks as they pass in the hall. He sees enough of her in class. He shakes his head. Alex presses, "We could go get some of your things?" Alex presses.

John clenches his teeth. Forces the words out of his mouth. "I don't want to go back to my dorm." A buzzing noise starts humming in his ears. He feels his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Temper flaring.

"There's—"

"—I don't want to go back to my  _ fucking dorm.  _ Can't you fucking understand that?"

Alex recoils. Stares up at him. Eyes wide. Any other day. Any other  _ moment _ . John might have let it lie at that. Might have been able to let it go. But he's sick and tired of everyone making decisions for him. Sick of being treated like an incompetent. He made a mistake. He shouldn't have gone looking for trouble. But none of that matters because he is perfectly  _ fine.  _ "I'm not a God-damned  _ child. _ "

"I'm just trying to help," Alex's voice warbles.

"Stop helping. Just stop fucking helping. You keep trying to help and it keeps making things worse. Just  _ stop.  _ Please. I'm so tired of your version of  _ help _ ."

Tears well in Alex's eyes. One escapes and starts sliding down his cheek. He rubs at it with the back of his hand. John watches. Muscles tense and growing more strained by the minute. "Just leave me the hell alone."

He shoves past Alex without saying another word. Marches down the hill that leads to the parking lot. Curses and kicks at the ground when he realizes Lafayette drove him to school. Fine. Whatever. He doesn't care.

He looks this way and that. Reorienting himself. Then adjusts his backpack and starts running. His books aren't settled evenly. They thump against his spine with each step. He doesn't care. Running helps distract him. His muscles aching helps tear his mind off of the desperate need to just beat something until it turns bloody.

_ I'm angry _ . The thought makes him laugh. Of course he's angry. And with each pumping motion of his arms, he becomes more angry. More upset. More desperate to unleash on someone. Something.

It wasn't his decision to get clean. He never made that choice on his own. Someone else decided it for him. Took his life in their hands and wrote it a new beginning, middle, and end. Changing chapters and story arcs, reorganizing plot points. He had a plan. His plan was to get up each morning and go to school. And he had been determined to do whatever he needed to do to accomplish that goal.

It's not his responsibility to carry everyone else along with him. It's not his fault that they all have opinions on how he needs to act and behave. People get involved and they make things worse. He's sick and tired of it.

Like a curtain getting lifted over his eyes the apathy of the past few days has given way to anger. Hot and sweet. Fuck Alex. Fuck Hercules. Fuck Madison and Lafayette while he's at it. And fuck Aaron Burr too. For showing up. For helping them look. For apparently deciding to get involved.

_ "He gave me a lecture on dealing last night,"  _ Madison had confided last time they spoke. Sighing and looking more worn out than ever before.  _ "He has a point." _

What was Burr's point? That it was Madison's fault John decided to go get high? Madison made it as difficult as possible for John, but there's always someone somewhere willing to deal if you know what you're willing to trade away. If you know what the cost of doing business is.

John's not Madison's problem. He's not anyone's problem.

Least of all  _ Alex's. _

It takes nearly twenty minutes to get to Lafayette's house. And when he gets there, John trips and stumbles up the stairs. All but collapsing against the door. He leans against it. Hard. Breathing in and out in harsh pants that leave fogging imprints on the glass barrier. Tugging open the screen door, he shoulders the front door open. Twisting the knob and letting his weight do the rest.

He's still panting for breath when he hears footsteps. It takes a moment for him to realize that the house should be empty. No one else should be home. He looks up.

There's a tall slender man in slacks, a nice dress shirt, and vest, descending from the stairs. He's got sock feet, and a quick glance to the side shows fancy loafers delicately placed on a mud mat Lafayette never uses.  

"Oh," the stranger says. Head tilting. Accent thick. "Hello. I'm Pierre."


	43. Chapter 43

“You’re...Lafayette, right?” The soft tenor floated brightly over the air. Lafayette turned. Blinking at Madison’s roommate. “With everything else going on these past few days, I wasn’t sure I got the name right.” 

_ “Oui...Je m'appelle Lafayette.”  _ Just last week he might have said it with a flourish.  _ Marquis de Lafayette _ rolling off his tongue with a swish of his wrist and a waggle of his brows. The feeling isn’t there anymore. He’s far too tired to play pretend.  __

Adjusting his grip on his bag, Burr approaches Lafayette slowly. Falling to a halt not too far away. “How’re...things going?” If Lafayette didn’t know better, he’d accuse Aaron of caring. As it is, he has no idea why the man’s talking to him. Misplaced guilt, perhaps. Uncertainty of how to manage the complexities of their situation. 

What does one say to someone after they spent two days helping them find a lost drug addict? “Fine,” Lafayette says. They’re as fine as they will ever be. As they can be. John’s just barely making it through the day without snapping at someone one way or another. 

He’s either a step away from suicide or murder, and half the time Lafayette’s not sure which way he’ll fall. He’d been angry earlier, but he’d swallowed it back. Kept it to himself. He’s been doing that more and more lately. 

Running hot and cold. Madison had mentioned moodswings. And Lafayette knew that from the first time they went through this. What everyone seems so willing to ignore, however, is that John isn’t just relapsing. He’s grieving. 

Martha Manning’s legacy, whatever it may be, hovers like a ghost. Wrapping around John like a second skin. Lafayette has no idea what to do. How to handle it. How to exorcise a memory. Especially not one that no one talked about. Alex still refuses to explain Martha. John certainly won’t.

And while Martha may not have died, the fact she’d tried to...it’s rocked John from his stable footing. And he won’t talk about what’s wrong. 

Aaron hums. It makes Lafayette pause. Refocus. He hadn’t noticed he’d been drifting. Staring off somewhere over Burr’s left shoulder. Trailing off like a child. “He’s in class today,” he offers. As if that’s some great accomplishment. As if anyone cares. Lafayette curses. Lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Lafayette has no idea what he’s doing. What he’s supposed to be saying. But he’s had a headache for days, and it’s coming and going with great regularity. 

He’s exhausted, and nothing makes sense. And usually speaking to others doesn’t take this much out of him. Isn’t even an effort. He can manage just fine. Up until the moment he can’t. Clearly. Right now? He can’t. 

“Thank you for helping…” he gets out. Unsure if he’d thanked the man prior. With John lying delirious in his arms. His bed. Lafayette can’t remember if he said much of anything at all to Aaron Burr. 

“I met John a few times,” Burr reveals. “He’d come to the dorm occasionally.” For Madison, he doesn’t say. Madison, John’s apparent dealer friend who agreed to not deal to John when he made an effort to get clean. Madison, who’d been worried enough to start pestering his contacts and likely had a great deal of blow back because of it. 

Lafayette isn’t sure how he feels about Madison right now. 

But he knows Alex is furious. 

Furious seems to be Alex’s default setting at the moment. 

“He’s a good man,” Aaron continues. “Very polite.” John is polite. When he wants to be. He’s also got an attitude. And interest. And. There’s so many complexities about John, and Lafayette’s head is filling up with all of them. 

There’s too much in there. Images and memories superseding and replacing themselves. This didn’t happen before. This didn’t happen when Hercules’ brother was hurt. Then, he’d accepted that bad things happened and moved on. Helped Hercules where he could. 

But this? This isn’t right. This isn’t the same. This isn’t...anything Lafayette knows how to deal with. His stomach is churning irritably. His intestines are tying themselves in knots. He’s going to throw up, and it’s a reaction he’s never had. Not over one person. Not like this. 

_ Your fault. _

“Are you all right?” Aaron asks slowly. Lafayette blinks up at him. 

“I told him I didn’t care what happened to him.” The words slip out in a daze. Jerked from his mouth before his brain can slam on the brakes. Shout  _ retreat! Retreat! Retreat!  _ But words aren’t working. Nothing works. Thoughts are meaningless. 

What the hell is wrong with him? 

What kind of person says that to someone they care about? 

And even if he didn’t care about John...who says that? 

Monsters. 

Monsters say that.

And the last thing John needs is another monster in his life. 

Aaron clears his throat. Shifts his weight. Looks up at the sky. Then looks back down. “People say things sometimes that they don’t mean.” It sounds fake. Pre-scripted. Wrong. Lafayette tries not to snap. Tries not to return fire. 

He’s mostly unsuccessful. “Know that for a fact, do you?” 

Aaron doesn’t take offence. Just nods slowly. “When emotions are involved...things happen. You’re there for John now aren’t you? It’s obvious John cares for you. Anyone can see that.”

“Does he truly?” Lafayette murmurs. 

John had closed his eyes, and has numbly accepted Lafayette’s presence. He’s never made a point to say anything at all. One way or another.  Instead. He’s just gone along. Miserable and locked in his own head. 

“Lafayette…?” Aaron asks carefully. Lafayette shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear whatever placating argument Aaron has pre-written in his head. 

He just wants to go to class. Go home. Find out if John’s all right. See if there’s something more he can do. Anything more that he can do. 

He hasn’t done enough. Not nearly enough. 

Everything he’s done so far? Means nothing at all.


	44. Chapter 44

Pierre knows his way around Lafayette's house. He drifts to and fro. Room to room. Easily opening up drawers and cupboards, collecting things and settling them onto the counter. He unearths a fancy looking coffee machine that John's never seen Lafayette use. Places it on the counter and plugs it in.

John's never made coffee before. Alex makes fun of him for it. Tells him that it's not natural someone wouldn't need coffee to make it through the day. Then again, Alex is completely useless when he wakes up. Prefers curling up under blankets and stay there for eternity. A semi-coherent lump that moans for coffee until John runs down to a store and buys him some.

Still. He's pretty sure that coffee isn't made like this. Pierre's got spoons and strange looking fixtures. There's steam coming out one side and the machine makes all sorts of strange noises. John keeps his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Who are you? Exactly?" John asks. Lafayette hadn't mentioned visitors. He doesn't have to. It's not like John actually lives there. He lives in the dorm. He should be there now. Should have gone back with Alex. His head aches as he tries to figure out what exactly he was attempting to accomplish here.

His blood is buzzing. His nails are itching to dig into something. To tear and break. Pierre in his perfectly coiffed attire is exactly the opposite of what John is interested in tolerating at the moment.

"Gil's godfather," Pierre says.

He looks a little young to be  _ Gil's  _ anything. Dark hair and angular face, he can't be older than thirty. Which would make him. What? At  _ best  _ ten years older than Lafayette? "A little young for that, don't cha think?" John asks. Willfully rude. Pierre shrugs.

"I'm thirty-eight." John's mouth falls open. Gaping inappropriately. Pierre must take it the wrong way, or he's being obtuse. "It's not  _ that  _ young," he waves off. Unconcerned.

"You're  _ thirty-eight? _ " John asks. Just to be sure he isn't mishearing. Pierre's lips tug downwards.

"Is that so surprising?"

In a word? Yes.

John shrugs helplessly. He has no idea what to say to that. Really doesn't know how they got there to begin with. He bites his lip. Pierre shrugs. Redirects his attention to his drink making. Steam comes out one end. He snags a mug and places it under a...spigot? And creamy liquid spills into it. John bites his lip. He’s desperate for action. 

“I should go.” 

“Drink this first,” Pierre commands. Settling the mug in front of him. 

“What’s in it?”

“Milk. Tea. It’s a latte. Something like five hundred calories. It’s terrible for you, but tastes good.” Pierre turns and starts poking about the kitchen some more. John’s stomach rolls at the idea of actually drinking something with milk in it right now. “Ah. Of course.” Pierre pulls a box of crackers down. Then fetches some cheese from the fridge. “Drink.” He waves his hand at the mug. 

“I...don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Pierre pauses. Tilts his head to the side. 

He’s supposed to do this. Someone says something. And he does it. It’s simple. Rote. John takes a sip of the drink. At least it’s good. Surprisingly good. “Didn’t know Laf had this stuff.” He swallows a few mouthfuls. If he’s going to drink it...it could be worse. 

“He’s far more health conscious than I ever raised him,” Pierre mutters. “He gets that from his mother.” 

“His mother?” 

“Mmhmm….he has one you know. And a father too. They don’t visit much. Or call. They’re absentee.” 

John finishes the drink. Just wanted it over with. Settling it to the side, he crosses his arms again. “Should you be telling me this…?” he asks trailing off. “Laf’s never…” talked about his past. Talked about his family. 

Pierre scoffs. Settles down in the chair across from John. “Talked about his parents? You should be grateful. When he does, he complains about them. It’s unattractive.” Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, he flips the case open. Starts tapping away at the screen.  

“He doesn’t talk about you either,” John points out. Pierre makes a humming noise. A strange growl that curls around the edges of his voice. 

“Gil does not speak of anyone unless directly asked.  _ That _ , I taught him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m a lawyer.” Pierre sets his phone to the side. “And I don’t trust anybody.” He stands. “Come.” 

Walking to the basement he pushes the door open and walks down the stairs. John hesitates for a moment, before following him. Walking to the stairs and slowly descending. Pierre’s stopped by the mats. He’s rolling up the sleeves of his fancy shirt. Settling them into place above his elbows. He picks up Lafayette’s epee from where it’s leaning against the wall. Then gently lifts John’s. 

“It’s yours, right?” he asks holding it out. John takes it. “Come. Show me what my boy’s taught you.” 

“We’re not dressed,” John murmurs. He glances toward his jacket. His knickers. Neatly folded and ready for him. 

“Don’t want to fight without them?” John’s hand shakes. He doesn’t. It’s not right. There are rules. Rules that Lafayette set in place. Rules that he follows. Rules that are important. They shouldn’t be broken. They can’t be broken. It’s not right. “John?”

Pierre wants him to do this. Wants him to fight. Wants him to attack. And. And that’s not fair. It’s not. John darts forward. Pierre blocks it. Lightening fast. Parries. He doesn’t let John get a hit. Doesn’t let him draw near. 

John’s stomach rolls. Latte not settling properly. He licks his lips. His head hurts. Here’s the fight he wanted. Right here. And yet. It’s not what he wanted. Fencing is a practice. It’s supposed to be done in a very specific way. And this is wrong. This is wrong. This is—

A light tap against his arm. It’s not even hard enough to welt. John drops the epee. He kneels down. And promptly throws up.


	45. Chapter 45

There are voices rising from the basement. And one is...an impossible voice. Walking briskly towards the stairs, Lafayette descends three at a time. Stopping at the bottom. Staring at John on his knees in front of Pierre. Pierre carefully not touching him. Leaned close. Murmuring softly.

He looks up. Lips pressed tight together. “John...Gil’s here, do you want—” John’s head whips up and around. He stares at Lafayette. Eyes wide. Tears streaming down his face. He swats at his eyes. Scrambles up to his feet. He steps back. But slips on something. Starts to fall. Pierre shoots his hands out. Catching him. Keeping him steady.

John’s flushed red. Crying harder. He shoves at Pierre. And Pierre lets him. “I’m fine,” he gets out. Looking between Lafayette and Pierre. “I’m fine. I just…” Lafayette steps towards him. Holds out his arms, and John goes. Goes and presses his head against Lafayette’s chest. He’s sobbing. Sobbing long and hard, and Lafayette can’t piece any of it together.

He’s trying. He’s trying as hard as he can, but his head doesn’t make the math work. The train of thought is broken. He can only take in small scraps of sense and awkwardly patch them side by side. John upset. Their epees on the ground. Pierre. Vomit.

Lafayette’s still stuck on Pierre. Pierre who shouldn’t be there. Who has been ignoring Lafayette’s texts for weeks now. Months even. His brain running too slow to come up with a proper response. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Pierre is a sphinx. Uncomfortably good at keeping his expressions to himself. And right now? He’s doing a phenomenal job doing just that. He looks between John and Lafayette. Lips drawn in a thin line. Expression blank and neutral. Perhaps a little displeased, but with no obvious show of at whom or for what.

“Hercules called,” Pierre reveals slowly. The answer rankles.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

“I told you to call your parents if you needed help. I was with your parents.”

“You said you were going on vacation.”

“Yes. And I did.” Pierre keeps his voice down. His tone calm. He makes a show of giving a pointed look to John, still sobbing against Lafayette’s chest. Now wasn’t the time or place to talk about this. And Pierre wanted to make that point very clear. Lafayette bites his lip. That’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair. “John, do you want me to go?” Pierre asks suddenly. “Give you two some space?”

John doesn’t reply. Just buries his head against Lafayette’s chest. Still choking on sobs that show no signs of stopping. Lafayette has no idea where any of this is coming from. Pierre’s not the type to purposefully hurt someone. Lafayette can’t imagine he’d done anything to John on purpose. But…John’s reaction at the moment is extreme. And it’s unsettling.

Mood swing? Maybe? But John’s never had one like this.

Pierre makes a quiet noise, then bids them _adieu_. Stepping past them both without so much as touching Lafayette in greeting. He walks up the stairs on his own accord, and Lafayette stands in the basement just as lost as ever.

_It’s your fault._

His arms tighten around John. The smell of vomit is gagging, and so he drags John back. Away from it. Down to a nice clean spot against the wall where they can pretend that nothing’s gone wrong. John curls against his body. Leans his head against Lafayette’s collarbone. Hands folded in his lap.

“M’tired…” John  whispers.

“Can you go to sleep now?” Lafayette asks. Because John has trouble with sleeping. Can never seem to manage it without prompting. And he’s going to ask. Ask like this because it’s the only way he knows. Though he can’t fathom what to do to make it better. Can’t come up with the answer anymore.

His brain’s gone blank. Every idea that comes to mind is immediately discarded. He’s ruined everything. He doesn’t want to ruin this.

John nods, though. Lets Lafayette hoist him up into the air. Lets Lafayette carry him to their bedroom. He removes John’s shoes. Murmurs that he’ll clean the one that John stepped in vomit with, and then leaves John to settle in. Get undressed. Do whatever he’d like.

He presses a kiss to John’s brow before going. Fingers trailing down his arm. John doesn’t ask him to stay. So he doesn’t. Knows that by staying, he’s probably only making things worse.

Walking down to the kitchen, he finds Pierre sitting at the table. He’s got a cup of tea cooling in front of him. He’s looking out the window. Sharp lines of his body falling perfectly into place. “What are you doing here?” Lafayette asks again.

“Do you want to know how I met your parents?” Pierre asks. The question, this time, is rhetorical. He doesn’t wait for Lafayette to respond. “I was homeless. Using ecstasy and coke to have fun. Opioids to come down. I couldn’t sleep on coke. Needed something to put me out.” He huffs. Looks to the side. Lips pulling into a sardonic smile. Vile and twisted. “Those were fun times.”  He says it so blandly, it’s impossible to miss the disgust. Lafayette presses his lips together. Feels like his skin is crawling. “I tried stealing money from your parents. Instead of kicking my ass, they thought it was funny. They started looking out for me. Eventually got me sober. Funded my education. Let me stay. Any of this sounding familiar?”

Yes. He’s not daft enough to not see the correlation. But. “What are you doing _here?_ ” Lafayette asks. Too tired to work out the complexities of Pierre’s story. To think anymore on it in detail. He just needs...a direct answer.

“I’m here because you’re my godson, Gil. And Hercules called. Said you needed help. So I’m here. I’d like to help.”

“Can you help?” Lafayette asks.

“I can try.” It’s all he could hope for.


	46. Chapter 46

There's a guest bedroom down the hall from Lafayette's. John can't hear Pierre inside it, but he knows he's there. Lafayette quietly told John that he needed to run an errand. Asked if John would be okay on his own. John nodded. Mumbled that he wasn't a child. Didn't need someone standing at his side telling him what to do every second of the day. "That's not what I meant,  _ cher _ ," Lafayette had sighed. John didn't feel like arguing.

There wasn’t a point.

Lafayette left. And now, more than an hour later, he had yet to return. It's dark out. Inky black falling over the woods outside Lafayette's window. Cool winter wind blowing about in circles. John watches it swirl. He doesn't feel good.

He should get up. Get out. Find someplace else to go. He shouldn't be here anymore. Lafayette's not here right now. And he doesn't know a thing about Pierre. And why did Lafayette leave him here with him?

It makes John's stomach twist. It threatens to be sick again. He rubs his arms harder.

_ Godfather,  _ John reminds himself. Pierre is Lafayette's godfather. Someone that his parents thought should care for Lafayette in their absence. And apparently...they were absent? John doesn't think he has a godfather. The more he thinks on it, the more certain he feels. He didn't know his mother's family, and his father wouldn't have bothered setting that up.

If he had, then John's  _ godfather _ was just as much of a failure as his actual father.

He needs to go.

Pushing away from Lafayette's bedroom window, John walks to the door. He's halfway down the stairs when he hears something drop. Break. A strange word, most likely a curse, snaps out of the guest bedroom. John knows he can ignore it. Knows he can just keep going. Keep heading out and maybe the distraction will be enough so Pierre doesn't miss him.

But.

He steps back. Looks into the gap between the door and the frame. Bites his lip. Pierre's staring at a picture frame. There's glass on the floor. The frame's knocked over. He's holding his palm to his lips. Grimacing as he tongues at whatever injury he'd acquired. John doesn't know what to say.

He doesn't even remember what the picture was. He'd spent most of his time in Lafayette's bedroom. Rarely coming into this one. A quick glance about the place gives him some form of direction. It's small. But cozy. Sparsely decorated save for, apparently, a glass frame. "I hated this thing," Pierre says suddenly.

"That why you broke it?"

Surprisingly, Pierre doesn't look toward him. Or attempt to make eye-contact. That's fine. John doesn't feel like having an adult conversation anyway. The older man shrugs instead. Scowls at the blood on his hand. Dripping against the floor. "As much as I'd love to take credit for that. I, eh, just dropped it."

"You speak better English than Laf." John winces. It's not what he meant to say. It's completely off topic. "Not that Laf's English is bad. It's not. His accent's just stronger. And—" Pierre doesn't laugh. Truthfully, he doesn't look even remotely upset.

Instead, he smiles. A nice smile that goes well with his relaxed shoulders. "I taught him," he adds on when John trails off.

"You...?"

"I spent some time studying in London for a while. After Gil was born, I practiced on him. His parents prefer French. So it was spite, I think, that led to him asking to learn. Something he could hold over their heads." Pierre doesn't step forward, but he does motion toward the door with his chin. "I should wash my hand," he explains. John blinks. Then realizes what he meant. He steps back out of the way, and Pierre slides past with more than enough room.

John spares half a glance toward the mess on the floor. Bloodstained shards of glass cluttered into a pile. He thinks there's a dustpan somewhere. When they'd made a mess a few months ago, Lafayette conjured it up out of thin air and magicked it away just as fast.

He hears Pierre turn the bathroom sink on. "I'd prefer if you didn't," Pierre calls out. Dragging John from his train of thought. He frowns. Asks what the man means. There's a pause. The water keeps running. John waits until the faucet turns off. Then approaches. He leans around the corner.

Pierre's found the first aid kit under the sink, and he's drying his palm on a few sheets of crumpled toilet paper. Surprisingly deft, it doesn't take him long to open the kit and find a bandaid that'll wrap around the side of his palm.

"Didn't what?" John asks again. Still waiting for a response.

Pierre finishes the wrap. Closes the kit. Tosses the wrappers in the garbage. "Clean up the glass. Not without gloves. It's not safe."

"Oh." John doesn't really know what to say to that. He steps out of the way again, and Pierre returns to the frame.

"I owe you an apology," Pierre says. John can't think of any reason he has to be sorry. It's his own messed up head that made everything worse. None of that is Pierre's fault. He braces himself for whatever contrived thing Pierre feels like telling him. For whatever it is he gets to be guilty for now.

It doesn’t come. "For what?" John pushes. Anxiety not letting him stay quiet one moment more.

"For all my limitless talents...I have no idea how to cook."

John blinks.

Blinks again.

His lips quirk to the left. Breath starts pushing in short jerks against the back of his mouth. He lifts his knuckles to his lips. Tries to swallow back the giggle. Pierre's smiling again. Open and friendly. For the first time, John has no trouble believing that Pierre had a hand in raising Lafayette. His self-confidence is astounding. "I can cook," he offers.

He doesn't know what Lafayette has. But he'll figure it out.


	47. Chapter 47

“You called _Pierre?”_ Lafayette growls the moment Hercules opens the door. His closest friend. His _brother._ His fingers tighten around the knob. There are students walking around the dorm. It’s late, but they’re still up. This isn’t the kind of conversation they should have here. Not now. There’s nowhere else to go.

“Come...in.” Hercules steps back. His dorm room is bigger than some of the other dorms. But not by much. He keeps it neat though. As an example. Lafayette couldn’t care less. He slams the side of his fist into the stone wall of Hercules’ room.

“Tell me, _mon frere,_ since when did you become so chatty?”

“If you’re going to start pretending that I don’t keep in touch with your family, then you’re more delusional than I thought.”

_Delusional._

_Your fault._

White noise fills Lafayette’s ears. His hands are clenched so tight that he can feel skin and muscles starting to strain. He hits the wall again. And again. Turns fully and punches it. Splintering pain cracks through his hand. Strikes up his wrist. Up his arm.

Hercules reaches out. Tugs him backwards. “You’re going to hurt yourself. You—”

“—How long did you _know?!”_ Lafayette shouts. He slams his next fist into the space just past Hercules’ ear. His friend flinches back. Twists away. Eye wide. Mouth open. Blinking rapidly with rising alarm.

“Know _what?”_

“That Pierre was—that he—” Lafayette cuts himself off. Slams a hand to his face. Squeezes tight. His head is spinning. His breath is coming too fast.

“That he—what? _Used_ something like twenty _years_ ago?” Hercules asks breathlessly. He’s watching Lafayette’s hands. Wary. Uncertain. “I knew after my brother. He told me.”

Lafayette isn’t so sure he _doesn’t_ want to tear Hercules into pieces. Break him down and not bother to put him back together again. Just crush and destroy. Until there’s nothing left. Until everything is pulpy and raw.

_Your fault._

“He never told me.”

A girl outside screeches as one of her friends pours snow down her shirt. They laugh loudly. Start tussling. An impromptu snowball war starting up. Hercules’ job is to keep it from happening. He doesn’t look outside. Doesn’t leave to address it. Instead, he looks at Lafayette.  And say, “He doesn’t tell you a lot.”

Lafayette’s hands spasmed. He’s going to hit something. It _can’t_ be Hercules. But God he wants it to be. “I see.”

“You _don’t_ see,” Hercules snaps back. He steps in close. Places two hands on Lafayette’s shoulders. Shakes him hard. Lafayette’s brain collides with the front and back of his skull. He’s a bobblehead. Knock him around and watch as he writhes in place. His closed fists lift. Turn into claws to dig down on Hercules’ arm. “Pierre never tells anyone _shit_ if you don’t ask it directly. He’s always been like that. That’s the only reason I know. And here? Now? I called him only because you wouldn’t listen to me!” Lafayette snarls. Hercules keeps going, “I kept trying to help, and you wouldn’t listen to me. But John _needs_ help and I don’t want to see another kid go through what—”

What his brother did.

He trails off. Drops his hands to his sides. “You listen to Pierre, Gil,” Hercules murmurs. “You always have. He’s the only person in this world you listen to. So I called him. I asked him to come over.”

“He’s here,” Lafayette reveals. Here, and settled in place as easily as can be. Here and making John cry in the basement. Here and adding one more layer to one more thing. Lafayette jerks back. Pierre’s never been something _bad_ before. But. Lafayette doesn’t know how to accept the fact that he’s _here._ “He’s here, and he’s—” Lafayette moves. Needs to keep moving. Sits down on Hercules’ bed.

He sinks his head into his hands. _“Que suis-je en train de faire?” What am I doing?_

“The best you can,” Hercules murmurs. “You’re doing the best you can.”

“I told John I wouldn’t come back for him.”

_This is all your fault._

“You made a mistake.” Lafayette shook his head. His fingernails dug into his scalp.

“He was so cold when we found him. He—he could have. He could have—”

“He didn’t.” Hercules steps in close. “You told me that when...when it happened to…” he stops. Restarts. “You told me it wasn’t my fault. That people say things sometimes. They say things. Do things. And they don’t mean it. They shouldn’t be held accountable for it. You went back for him. You went back. And we’ll figure it out. But, shit, Gil. This...this is something that...fuck. We need _help,_ Gil _._ John needs _help._ ”

Knowing that didn’t change anything. Didn’t magically make the guilt and the despair go away. Didn’t change the memory of John panicking in his arms. Screaming and apologizing. Fighting him without knowing what was happening. Lafayette digs his nails in deeper. Feels the skin struggling. Straining. He can’t do this anymore.

He’s exhausted.  “I can’t help him.”

“Not by yourself,” Hercules agrees. “You trust Pierre more than anyone else in this world. Is there _anyone_ on this planet you’d trust with John right now? More than him?”

Lafayette doesn’t know. But. He knows when Pierre said he’d look out for John while Lafayette got his head on straight, he never questioned it. He knows that Pierre has always had the right answer. Always seems to know exactly what to do and where to go. “I should have told you I spoke to him.”

“He’s been ignoring my phone calls.”

“He was trying to get you to talk to your parents. Apparently it didn’t work.”

“Surprised you didn’t call them too.”

“I did.” Lafayette flinches. Forces himself to meet Hercules’ eyes. “Pierre told them to stay. You break Maman’s heart every time you do that.”

“But they stayed,” Lafayette murmurs. Half not believing it.

“When it comes to you? They’ve always listened to Pierre.”

And he’s right. They do.  


	48. Chapter 48

"You don't have to cook if you don't want to," Pierre tells John as he starts opening drawers and cupboards. He hadn't realized how sparse things had gotten. Considering the past few days though...John's not surprised. He doesn't remember Lafayette leaving for anything as mundane as grocery shopping, and Alex had stress baked his way through all of the eggs and milk.

_ Alex. _

John's eyes fix on the measuring cup sitting innocently beside the other cookware. He shouldn't have snapped at Alex. Shouldn't have run off. He should text him. Apologize. Running away never makes anything better. It only ever makes things worse. "John?" He twists. Pierre is waiting for a response.

"There's...not much here..."

"I noticed earlier," Pierre sighs. "Do you like pizza?" John shrugs.

"Don't think anyone  _ doesn't  _ like pizza."

"You'd be surprised." Pulling his cellphone from his pocket, Pierre taps a few buttons, and then hands it to John. "Do you know the number?" John does. He takes the phone carefully. It's one of those fancy models that probably costs more than a house. He taps in the number. Returns it to Pierre with the same amount of care as he'd received it. "What do you like?"

Shrugging, John bites his lip. "Whatever."

For a moment, he almost believes Pierre will leave it at that. He looks like he's planning on just bringing the phone to his ear. Making the call. Ordering the pie. Instead, Pierre looks at his phone like it holds the answers to the universe. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. "Why did you fence with me earlier?" he asks.

The question...doesn't make sense. John frowns. Eyes squinting as he tries to work it out. Maybe Pierre's English wasn't as good as John thought. Maybe he'd gotten it wrong? "I don't..."

"You didn't want to." The words float through the room. Settling in like a curse. John shrugs. Hopes that that's enough. "If you don't want to do something—"

"—I don't have to do it. I know. I got the memo." Repeatedly. It's everyone's favorite thing to tell him. As if he doesn't know that. As if they lived in a perfect world where things like that actually mattered to anyone except his absurdly socially conscientious friends.

The Frenchman smiles. Offering a short snorting laugh before directing his attention to his phone. Dialing and ordering a half cheese half pepperoni pizza. It's polite. The two most common toppings. John likes both.

"Milk doesn't settle well for anyone if you're working out." They'd barely traded five blows. Even the stinging tap Pierre left on John's arm had faded to a light red mark. Practically gone. Blending in with the darker shades of his skin. Freckles obscuring everything.

It wasn't the milk, but it was nice of Pierre to give him an out.

"I don't like breaking rules."  _ Says the drug addict.  _ John flinches at the thought. Bites his lip hard. It doesn't block anything out.

"We should have put the gear on first," Pierre allows.

Should've, could've, would've.  _ Didn't.  _ John shrugs again. What else is there to say? Apparently nothing.

They sit across from each other at the table. Silence descending as Pierre plays with his phone. He taps at the screen a few times. Murmurs something in a language that doesn't sound like French. "What do you do?" John asks.

"I'm a lawyer." Then, with no small degree of pride, "International."

"You do international law?"

"Not as such. I work for Gil's parents. They have business holdings in several different countries. Where applicable, I have a license to practice for them in each of those locations."

"He's rich?" John asks. It's not surprising. The signs were all there. But considering the scope of what Pierre was talking about, it seemed like it was more than he'd expected.

Pierre rolls his eyes to the sky. "Stupidly. And he's just as irresponsible with their money as they are. I think he enjoys purchasing items just to run up their bill."

_ Fencing.  _ Lafayette had purchased all of John's fencing equipment. Done it with so much speed and with such flourish, John barely had time to blink before he'd had it all there. Overnight delivery. Even custom made. "Sorry..." he murmurs.

"For what?" John makes a vague motion with his hand. Not sure he can really express what he means without sounding like more of an idiot. "Gil's family has more money than they could spend in a lifetime. Gil buying you presents? Is a far more satisfying than trying to explain their fifteenth yacht club to our accountant."

_ Fifteenth _ . Not just a fifteenth yacht. But a fifteenth yacht  _ club. _ John's mouth drops. "What'd they do?"

"She's a medical engineer who develops new equipment for doctors and hospitals, working on refining old methods and improving the cost benefit of mass production for lower income communities. And  _ he's  _ involved with aerospace engineering. They met at school."

"They sound smart."

"They're very smart," Pierre agrees. "But they also are scatter-brained." He makes a motion with his hand. Tapping his brow. "They get so involved up here that they don’t realize life spins on without them. Going so fast that they forget to slow down."

"That what they did with Lafayette?"

Lights appear in the driveway. A car pulling in and settling to stop. "They're very aware of their son. Don't let him tell you otherwise. They just...have a tendency to put their  _ careers _ before him."

John knows what's that like. Is hyper aware of what that's like. Always second best. Never first. No matter how hard he tries. Never good enough. Never capable enough.

"Shall I tell you a secret, John?"

"Why not?"

Pierre reaches out. Slowly and carefully placing a hand on John's wrist. It's warm. Gentle. Grounding. John takes his time looking up. But when he does, when he finally meets Pierre's eyes, his breath catches. "You're doing all right, kid," Pierre tells him sweetly. "With everything going on? You truly are doing all right."


	49. Chapter 49

It's late when Lafayette gets back home. Well past midnight. The lights are all off in the house, the front door locked. He walks inside and quietly sneaks up the stairs. Past the guest bedroom. Into his own. John's there. Curled up in the bed. Staring off at the window. Still awake.

"Couldn't sleep?" Lafayette asks quietly. He'd hoped John would be able to. Hoped he'd be able to settle his head a little. Sleep off the anxiety that'd gripped him earlier. John makes a vague sound, shifting back so Lafayette could slide in beside him.

In a matter of moments, John's there again. Pressing in close against his side. Holding him close. Lafayette shifts. Wraps his arm around John's body and holds him tight. John's never been a fan of talking. Preferring instead to let others do it for him. Lafayette wonders how often those  _ others  _ get it wrong. 

The clouds shift a little. Blue moonlight filtering in with greater clarity. It illuminates the dressers. The path to the en suite. Casting reflections off the shadows. "He's nice," John whispers.

No need to ask who. But Lafayette clarifies anyway. "Pierre?" gets a hum in response. "Yeah," he agrees. "He's nice."

He thinks John'll leave it at that. Let it go. Turn away. Not say anything more. But he doesn't. Instead, he sits up. Frowns down at Lafayette. Curls falling into his face. Unable to help himself, Lafayette reaches for the closest strand. Tucks it back behind John's ear. "You're upset," John tells him. It's not meant to be an accusation. Lafayette knows that. But it  _ feels  _ like one. It feels like one, and  _ damn  _ if it isn't hard to bite back on the knee-jerk response. Hard to not say what he's thinking. To keep it to himself. He's never watched his mouth a day in his life.

And it's gotten him into trouble time and time again because of it. Especially now...when he's so tired of hurting John Laurens.

Keeping his mouth closed, his hand falls back to the bed. Curling limply around John's body. Arm angled awkwardly to accommodate. "Don't worry,  _ lapin.  _ I'll be fine." If anything, the response only makes John worry more. He bites his lip. Frowns. Lafayette sighs.  _ I'm making this worse... _ "I wish I'd known before..."  _ Where he came from. Why he thinks my parents walk on water. Why he tries so hard. _

"He said he raised you."

He did. Pierre raised him.  And Lafayette never  _ thought  _ about it. Never thought about why Pierre was there. Why he cared so much. He'd been there right before Lafayette had been born. And then he'd gotten clean sometime thereafter. His parents had been there long enough to get a drug addict off the street and on his feet, and then left the moment that addict got clean. And then Pierre raised him for them.

Studying for law school the whole while. Doing everything. And Pierre was grateful for the opportunity. Didn't see it as a stressor or a burden. Didn't see anything wrong with what happened. Accepted fully that it all worked out.

That it would continue working out. Serving as their live-in just because he was  _ grateful  _ to them. "They took advantage."

"Who did?"

Lafayette sighed. Reached up to tug John back to his chest. Feel him curl against him once more. Breathing steady and body warm. The two most important things in the world. Just that. Lafayette tells the story in French. He knows John can't understand it. Knows that the words won't make sense to him.

He says it anyway.

Bless him. John doesn't complain. Just sits there. Holding him tight. Listening.

When he's done, he closes his eyes. Tries to pretend that there's nothing wrong. Attempts to rationalize his discovery. It might be a bit vindictive, perhaps a little tongue in cheek, but when John replies – it's not in English either.

Lafayette's familiar enough with French to understand a few words in Spanish. Vaguely.  _ Ella fue mi novia. Pero no. _ She was my girlfriend. But not. John mentioned Alex's name. A few times really. Speaking his name softly. Letting him go just as soft. His father circled in and out.  _ Padre...padre...padre. _

John stopped. Sighed. Raised a hand to his face. Shook his head. He sat up slowly. Shifting so his back leaned against the headboard. He drew his knees up. Covers falling off them. Arms resting around his legs. "There's a scar," John murmurs softly in English. Leaning his cheek against his knees. "Just behind my ear." Lafayette shifts. The moon's just bright enough, that if he moves carefully, his shadow doesn't cover John's body. He lifts a hand. Tucks dark curls out of the way.

John's right. There's a scar. "I don’t remember it."

"Why?" John shrugs.

"He didn't mean to." The words come out slow. Stilted. Somewhat dazed. "He just does it sometimes. Doesn't think."

"Alex did this?" Lafayette clarifies. He's not sure who they're talking about anymore. John blinks. Leans away from the touch just a little.

"No." He frowns. Scrunches his nose. "No...no he didn't do this. He didn't mean to."

That didn't make any more sense. Lafayette shakes his head. "I don't understand." At least when John spoke Spanish, Lafayette  _ knew  _ why he didn't understand. He accepted it. But this trail of stopping and starting didn't make sense. Didn't make things any clearer.

John tilted his head. Frowning. "Alex didn't mean to out me to my father," he says slowly. Carefully. Each word handpicked with the greatest of tender care.

There's a scar behind John's left ear. It's jagged and rough. Uneven. Skin bubbling in an arc that hides beneath John's hair. Almost completely hidden. Curls covering it from view. Lafayette's fingers twitch. He licks his lips. "Why did he do that?"

John shrugs. "I'm tired." He leans over. Presses his head against Lafayette's chest. He doesn't say another word.

Lafayette stays awake, and holds him the whole night through. 


	50. Chapter 50

****

Alex meets John after class on Monday. He's holding a bag full of croissants and a hot chocolate. "I'm really sorry," he says. John stares at the offering. "I didn't mean to upset you..." John's not really upset anymore.

It's too much energy to be mad. It takes too much thought. Too much energy. He reaches for the sweets, and Alex smiles. Bouncing on his toes a little.  _ Say something,  _ John thinks wearily. He doesn't know what to say.

Last night, it'd taken him hours to actually go to sleep. Lafayette had stayed up with him until he drifted off. Hand stroking his hair. Gently settling his curls. It'd felt nice. The constant motion. Soothing and kind.

He'd been awake when John's alarm went off. Had helped get John out of bed. Get him dressed and ready to go. John wonders if Lafayette slept at all. From the dark bags under his eyes and the somewhat awkward gait, he assumes not.

Still. He sat John down and cooked breakfast while Pierre made another latte. This time John's stomach didn’t rebel and he could drink it without the nausea that followed. They had spoken for a long time. And then Lafayette had driven John to the campus. Wished him good luck.

It was an odd thing for Lafayette to have said.

_ Good luck. _

Good luck with what?

This. He supposes.  _ Say something. _

Alex is looking at him hopefully. John forces a smile. "It's fine." It's not.

But he knows how to keep smiling and waving. Knows how to put one foot in front of the other. Pretending everything's fine is easier when he's not sober, though. And even now, he knows Alex isn't convinced.

His shoulders slump forwards. He starts rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. He tucks his thumbs to his palms. Squeezes them tight. "Thank you," John grits out. "For the..." he holds up the food and drink.

"You're welcome."

Alex is his best friend. He's the person that John's wanted to be with since they first met. His first true friend that he ever had. Who stayed with him when he was so lonely and so tired of being by himself.  _ Get over it,  _ John instructs himself.  _ Let it go. _

"I have to meet up with Lafayette," he says instead. Alex wilts. But he nods.

"Um...I'm gonna meet up with Aaron."

"Didn't realize you guys got so close." John doesn't mean to be rude. But the words fall out of his mouth, and Alex grimaces a little.

Is defensive when he grumbles out, "He's nice." And he is nice. Aaron's very nice. When he's not being judgmental. Or condescending.

But John also has a vague recollection of Aaron helping them look for him. And that  _ was  _ nice. He didn't have to do it. "Have fun," John tells his closest friend in the world. He holds up the hot chocolate. "Thanks....again." Alex nods. Steps slightly to the side, and lets John walk by.

It takes everything in him to not look back. His chest aches badly. Lungs complaining with each breath he takes. He resists the urge to rub at it. Knows it's all in his head. He forces his legs to march. Moves promptly to Lafayette's car, and he waits there. Staring at the window in silence.

"Laurens?" He sighs. Turns. And jerks out of the way of a fist coming toward him. He drops the croissants, ducking and throwing the hot chocolate at his attacker. Stumbling backwards even as the man howls at the temperature.

_ Really should thank Alex properly,  _ John thinks as he takes a few steps back. "What do you want, Malone?" he asks shortly. Not in the mood in the least.

"You fucking hit  _ Sami _ ," the man growls out.

The name is not ringing a bell. "Who?"

_ "Sami  _ you mother-fucker! She needed stitches! _ " _

Sami...Sami...Sami...

Oh.

John blinked. The girl with the pills. He hadn't bothered to remember anything about her. The majority of that night blurring as it was. Apparently he hit her.

Fucking  _ great. _

Malone makes it one step before Lafayette appears. Wraithlike. Snapping his fingers out and squeezing down hard on the back of the man's neck turning and smashing his head against a half frozen lamp post standing innocently beside his car.

"Are we having fun,  _ mon amour?"  _ Lafayette asks John casually.

Malone is clutching his head tight. Moaning on the ground. John's fingers curl in and he strides forward. Sending a kick straight into the man's gut. Then Another to his side. Then another. Then—

"—Hey!" Lafayette jerks John forward. He trips over Malone's body. Someone's running toward them, and John's breathing harsh. Blood pulsing viciously quick through his veins. "Just what the  _ hell  _ is going on here?"

Peggy.

_ Peggy. _

John pants. Quick breath in. Long breath out. His brain is buzzing. Lafayette's holding him firm. Keeping him from moving. But at any moment he's going to explode out of his skin.

"I watched it happen," Lafayette reveals calmly. "Monsieur Malone attacked John."

"And you finished it," Peggy replies shortly. Lafayette doesn't bother to respond. Just tilts his head. "You all could be kicked out for fighting like this." As an RA, Peggy has a responsibility to report it too. She looks down at Malone, still whimpering on the ground. "What was the fight about?" she asks shortly. Not in the mood.

Well neither is John. "I hit his dealer girlfriend while she was peddling drugs."

Peggy's mouth fell open. Lafayette sighs, long and drawn out. Malone curses on the ground. Goes to sit up. Coughing and sputtering. Rallying impressively quick, Peggy points to the car. "Get out of here. Don't fight in public again. Someone is going to see you."

_ "Merci," _ Lafayette hurries out. He drags John to the car. Opening the door and shoving him inside.

John grits his teeth. The next person who touches him is getting punched. End of story.

He's sick and tired of being pushed around.

It stops now.


	51. Chapter 51

Pierre glances at Lafayette when he steps through the door, and promptly keeps his mouth  _ closed.  _ John stalks in behind him. Feet stamping across hardwood. Ignoring his godfather, Lafayette jerks the basement door open and goes down the stairs. John's spitting fire and pissing vinegar. They barely get to the mats—shoes kicked off—before John's on him. Punching hard and fast.

Lafayette has no trouble at all moving his arm out of the way. Block. Block. Side step. Kick. John's cursing. Shouting. Spewing vitriol. It's not aimed at Lafayette. Just nonsense hatred that's getting more and more extreme. Half the comments aren't even in English. Slipping back and forth between both languages with a kind of schizophrenic intensity.

John's a whirlwind. Every scrap of fight training they'd gone over in the past few months dissipating under the onslaught of just sheer aggression. He's getting hit more times than he's getting close to landing a hit, and he doesn't seem to care. Just going through each one of Lafayette's strikes. Taking them and bulldozing like he has the strength to do well with that strategy.

Lafayette sends him to the ground time and again. Pinning him. Jerking an arm behind his back. Threatening break holds that he eventually needs to let loose on because John's thrashing hard enough to actually break the limb himself.

"I  _ hate  _ them!" John shouts, catching Lafayette in the shoulder. Lafayette pops him in the eye. It makes John stumble back just enough that he pauses. Catches his breath. His shirt is stained with sweat. His lip is split and bleeding. "I fucking  _ hate  _ them."

"You're allowed," Lafayette offers.

"Allowed?  _ Allowed!?  _ I'm not allowed to do  _ shit."  _ He turns. This time, instead of punching at Lafayette, he hits one of the bags. Hits it again and again.

_ He'd been calm,  _ Lafayette thinks. Staring at John. John had been calm. Quiet. Depressed even. Throwing up in a panic the night before. And now..."What aren't you allowed to do?" Lafayette asks quietly.  

The bag swings. Collides with John's outstretched palms. He braces it. Breathing hard. He's going to hyperventilate if he doesn't calm down. If he doesn't start controlling his breaths. Lafayette doubts telling him that would help. "Anything. Anything. I can't do anything."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not  _ allowed,  _ did you just fucking hear me?" John hits the bag again. Isn't looking when it comes back. It smacks against his body. He stumbles. Lafayette moves to catch him. " _ Don't touch me."  _ He stops. The bag swings between them. Rising and falling in perfect arc. John's shaking. He's angry. He's angry and he's shaking.

There are bruises sprouting on his skin. Around his eye. His arms. He'll be a mess come morning, but he doesn't seem to care. He never did. Part of the joy of fighting John is that he never cares about things like that. He just enjoys the exhilaration of it all.

"Don't touch me," John repeats. Lafayette still hasn't moved. Hasn't gone to approach. Hasn't lifted a finger since the first request.

"I'm not going to touch you," Lafayette tells him slowly. He holds his hands out. Palms up. John's eyes squint at him. Face twisting. Cheek twitching.

He snarls, "No one listens to that." Disbelief evident. Scoffing indignation. Scathing abuse.

There's a question word on the tip of Lafayette's tongue. He forms the first letter. The rest don't follow. W. W turns into When. Who. What do you mean? But Lafayette can't form any of those questions. His head has been filled with miasma since the beginning. His body worn down and exhausted. He should know the answer to this question. He should. But he's drawing a blank.

There's cotton fluff where his brain should be. And even when John starts laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes, Lafayette can't piece together exactly what he's looking at. What he's observing. From zero to sixty and back again. Depression jumping to anger then shifting into...what? Euphoria?

_ Hysteria. _

John's laughing harder. Still crying. He's tipping forwards. One hand covering his mouth as he wheezes around each spastic guffaw. "Are we going to pretend?" John asks. He steps forward. Lafayette steps back. Keeps stepping back with each stalking advance. Until his back's against a wall and John's pressed against him.

"You asked me not to touch you,  _ lapin, _ " Lafayette reminds. Hands flat beside him.

"Since when does that  _ matter? _ Since when has what I wanted ever mattered? You all just get what you want. Taking wanting more and more. Over and over and over again. And it's always about what  _ you  _ want. It's never about what I want. Never about what I ask for. Never what's good for me. You just take. That's what you  _ always  _ do."

"Is that what Alex did?" John blinks at him. Mouth parting. He's not laughing anymore. Lafayette presses, "When he told your father?"

"That's different." He steps back. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then,  _ cher?" _ John blinked at him. Face blank. Fight draining from his body. Melting to the floor.

"I'm tired."

It's an excuse. An excuse that doesn't mean  _ anything. _ Just something John says when he's done with a conversation. When he thinks he'll get away with it. "What did you  _ mean?"  _ Lafayette presses. He has to physically restrain himself from moving forward. Has to keep his feet planted firmly to the ground.  _ Don't touch him. _

John isn't moving. He's staring at Lafayette. Waiting for something. Resolve crumbling by the minute. He does look tired. All of a sudden. As if the life is being dragged from him as they speak. As if he's draining away. Soul flickering like a candle in the wind. Lafayette knows how that feels. 

The door creaks open unnecessarily loud. Pierre. John still hasn't moved. "Gil?" Pierre doesn't sound the least bit concerned about interrupting. "I need to speak to you for a moment. It's important." Lafayette glares at his godfather. The man smiles. Immune. "Come here. Right now."


	52. Chapter 52

The moment the door clicks shut behind Lafayette, John can hear a flurry of fast spoken French. They voices are quiet. Muffled. But he can hear them. His knees give out. Sending him to the ground. _What the hell just happened?_ Stomach rolling, John needs to scramble. Crawling as fast as he could to the utility sink to throw up. He coughs, gagging on bile. Snot runs down his face, he's still crying. His skin is puffy and inflamed. _What the hell just happened?_

He has no idea.

Curling up beside the sink, he presses one hand to his head. His brain feels like it's on fire. Clenching tighter and tighter. Squeezing down and waiting to explode. He gags again, but it doesn't come up all the way. He can swallow this. Keep it back.

 _Idiot. You idiot. What were you thinking?_ John shakes his head. He hadn't been thinking. He'd been provoking. Provoking and spewing venom. And it's not Lafayette's fault. It's not. This is all on John, and he'd responded to Lafayette's endless kindness by trying to hurt him. And when he couldn't win with his hands, he tried to do it with words. And all it ended up doing was making John look more insane than he when started out.

Throwing up twice in two days felt like bad odds. Body worn and wasted. Adrenaline depleting his reserves. Fighting had felt nice at first. Giving in to the incandescent rage had felt like he'd finally done something right. Finally managed to accomplish a goal.

Beating the hell out of Malone...that'd be nice too. Fuck him. Coming after him for hitting Sami? John doesn't even remember hitting Sami. The entirety of that night is an endless blur from start to finish. It's one moment of pure clarity coming in the form of a voicemail that ruined everything.

He never should have picked up the phone.

Phone.

 _I lost my phone._ John taps his empty pocket, already knowing it's not there. He can't remember the last time he saw it. Maybe Sami had it.

He doesn't miss it. Doesn't ever want to see it again. If he doesn't have a phone, he can't get text messages from Martha. Voicemails from his father. Can't listen to them on repeat until he loses his mind. He can't get tempted to do something stupid.

Save him fifty dollars a month too.

Sniffing, John wipes at his eyes. Lafayette and Pierre have quieted. They're still talking to each other, but it's softer. Less blatantly obvious.

A streak of white catches John's attention and he tilts his head. His jacket. Knickers. epee.  They're all neatly set aside waiting for him. He hasn't touched them since the relapse. Standing up, he walks towards them.

He lifts the jacket with shaking fingers. Holds it up to look at it. White clashing against his skin. Bright and shiny. Perfectly cleaned. He tugs it on. The weight settling around his shoulders. Zipping it into place, it feels tight and comfortable. Warm and embracing. He should have done the knickers first. He'll have to undo the jacket to get them on right.

But that's fine. He redresses. Gets it right. Puts on the uniform. Pulls it into place. Feels the sharp lines and comfortable weight settle into place. The face mask goes on. A wash of— _too dark. Too much. Too close—_ wraps around him. He holds his hand in front of his face. Presses it against the meshing.

He can do this on his own. He doesn't need help. Pull the hand back. Watch as the world fades back into focus. _Keep your eyes trained on the world outside of the mask._ Not the dark lines that intersect across his vision.

He breathes in. Breathes out.

The noise of the world is muffled. Put on hold. The only thing that matters is right in front of him.

He can do this.

John pulls on his glove, then takes up his epee.

His body sinks into position. Toes and heels following the same line. Balance leveling out.

Step. Lunge. Step up. The footwork is familiar. The pattern mind-numbing. He shifts the epee. Block. Parry. Lunge. Repeat. Visualize targets in his mind.

The door opens. John doesn't stop. Won't stop. Not now. Step. Lunge. Step up. Backwards. Follow the pattern. Keep your feet under you. Center of gravity in your hips.

"You're good at that," Pierre tells him. Lafayette's not with him. He's come alone. John doesn't know what to say to him. He doesn't have anything to say. He just wants his mind to empty. Wants conversation to cease. "Drop your weight over your front leg more when you lunge." The advice is unwarranted. But it's familiar.

The same tone and cadence Lafayette used when he'd taught him to start with. Only without the flirtatious touches and teasing smiles. It's a step removed. Just as comfortable. Just as necessary.

John lunges.

"Good."

It's an easy call and response. Pierre leads and John follows. Up, down. Side, side. Watch the quadrants. Imagine the target. Good.

_Good._

Pierre doesn't tell him to stop. Doesn't suggest he get water. Lafayette will. He'll schedule breaks. Even if he thinks that he's not. He will. He'll stop. They'll trade kisses. They'll relax for a moment before continuing.

Pierre lets him push on.

Push on until John stumbles. Stops himself. Feels his muscles burning from the strain. He lowers the epee. Tip point to the ground. He can feel sweat streaming down his face. He'll need to clean the mask. It's filthy now.

He doesn't want to take it off, though. Doesn't want to look at anyone. See anything. He moves. Slides against the wall. Legs laying out straight. Hands in his lap. epee pointed across himself. To the wall perpendicular.

Pierre settles, just out of view. Sitting down on one of the benches. John breathes in. Breathes out. "You're all right kid," Pierre tells him. The words are nice. Pleasant. "You're all right."


	53. Chapter 53

Hercules stops by at a quarter to two. He’s in between classes. And he’s got beer. “John’s upstairs,” Lafayette tells him as soon as he walks through the door. 

“Yeah? And that’s good for John. This is for you.” he hands it over, and Lafayette stares at it. It’s not what he prefers. It’s Hercules’ brand, and the gift’s self serving at best. Still. He accepts the offering and pops the top off on the kitchen counter. 

Sips it while his friend settles into a chair. “Got talking to Peggy last night,” Hercules reveals. “John have a bad day?” 

“Something like that,” Lafayette replies, yawning. Taking another sip. “He’s with Pierre.” As if that makes it better. 

Hercules sighs. Gets himself a beer and drinks half of it in one go. Lafayette thinks they’re going to need more beer. Especially if they’re starting this early. “You two are such God-damned messes,” his friend mutters. Lafayette doesn’t disagree. It’s the truth. He tilts his bottle towards Hercules in understanding, snorts when Hercules taps it. “Cheers.” 

The house is quiet. It’s nerve wracking. Honestly. 

“Thank you,” he says. Because he doesn’t think he’s said it yet. Especially considering their last conversation. “Thank you for calling Pierre.” 

“How’s he been?”  _ Merde _ . Lafayette hadn’t realized. Hercules hasn’t even  _ seen  _ Pierre since he arrived. That’s not fair. Hercules cares about Pierre too. They should’ve had a chance to talk...at some point. 

_ “Bon,”  _ Lafayette sighs. It’s the truth. Pierre’s been good. Great even. Somehow getting John to trust him enough to talk to  _ him.  _ Even if he won’t talk to Lafayette about anything. Even if he seems to be floating between way-points so abruptly that Lafayette’s certain there’s going to be another explosion any second now. Even if Pierre tells him not to push. That while John’s panicking, Lafayette can’t force John into answering. 

His fingers tighten around the glass. 

He’s put so much into helping John...and now...he can’t do anything to help. He’s just making things worse. Over and over again. 

Hercules gets them another beer each. Settles the glass between them. Lafayette takes it. Sips it. Stares up at the clock above the stove. Ticking slowly away. “Peggy’s worried about John. Wants to come over and see how he’s doing.” 

“As his RA?” Lafayette asks. 

It’s a spiteful question. And Lafayette knows that. Even accepts the glare Hercules sends his way in response. His friend shakes his head. “As a human being who cares, Gil.” Pausing, Hercules is careful with his next comment. “The STD testing day is coming up. Peg’s sister is running it. You know if John’s been tested?” 

He doesn’t, actually. 

And they haven’t been exactly safe either. Lafayette winces. Brings a hand to his face and rubs it down hard. Hercules groans. “Seriously?” 

“I did not think of it,” Lafayette mutters in response. Stupid really. John should have been tested the first time they worked on weaning him off the drugs. From the first moment that Lafayette had empirical proof that John had been sleeping around for drugs. 

“Was he using intravenously too?” That, Lafayette shakes his head too. As far as he knew, John never shot up. His arms don’t have the track marks. His skin holds no scars of  _ that  _ kind. The only scars on John’s body are the ones caused by his reckless desire to hurt and be hurt in return. “He still could have contract—”

“—I know.” He does. He’s not stupid. He’s fully aware that John could have contracted something. That on top of everything else, they’d have to deal with  _ that.  _ Lafayette sinks into his seat. 

He really is an idiot. That’s the moral of the story so far. He’s an idiot, and John’s  _ reckless with his own life.  _ “When is the date?” Lafayette asks. Hercules provides it. 

“There’s a clinic downtown too, if you wanted to get it done sooner.” 

“I will consider it,” Lafayette replies. “It’s John’s decision.” 

“Sometimes you do things for people because you have to. And they’re making the wrong decisions.” It’s the kind of advice that might make sense in another context. With another person. But right here, and right now, Lafayette can only settle his beer on the table. 

“He’s had people making enough decisions for him, I think.” 

Maybe that’s it. Saying the words out loud. Maybe that’s what finally pieces it all together. Lafayette stops. Time rolls back. 

_ Ella fue mi novia...pero no mi novia… _

_ Don’t touch me.  _

_ Take everything... _

“Merde.” Lafayette’s going to be sick. 

Hercules sits up straight. “Gil?” He’s not listening. He pushes up and away from the table. Leaves. Walks briskly towards the stairs, and up them. John’s in his room. School work on the floor. He’s curled up next to the bed, Pierre sitting against a wall opposite. Both with books in their hands. John taking notes laboriously slow. 

“Martha Manning,” Lafayette says the moment John looks up to meet his eyes. John’s shoulders sagged. The corners of his eyes dipped down. Waiting for a blow he already knew would come. “She raped you.” 

John doesn’t say anything. 

“She raped you,” Lafayette repeats, stepping forward. He kneels before him. Never losing eye contact. “And Alex got mad. Outed you soon after.” The timeline’s falling into place. Everything slotting in one right after another. “You started using to not think about it.” It’s why he can’t stop. Why he’s struggling to even make it through one moment in time. Everything circles back. His brain on repeat. Words and noises colliding. “She tried to kill herself.” Lafayette already knew that was the trigger. “Who told you?” 

“My father,” John replies woodenly. “She left a note. Said what she did. She apologized. Then tried...Carbon monoxide poisoning. Her parents saw the note. Called my father. Told him what I did to their  _ baby girl.  _ How I broke her. How it’s—” 

“This is not your fault, John.” Pierre says firmly from over Lafayette’s shoulder. 

John smiles. “Of course it is.”


	54. Chapter 54

Pierre and Lafayette are talking about him. John picks at the tape wrapped around the hilt of his sabre. He doesn’t use his sabre that often. Lafayette prefers epee. But he’s got all three fencing swords. He likes touching them. Running his hands over them. Feeling how they shift. How they differ. 

The sabre’s the most comfortable. 

He hasn’t told Lafayette that. Doesn’t want to tell him. He likes the epee. Keeps it downstairs so he can practice with it often. And he  _ does  _ enjoy practicing with it. But. The sabre just fits his hand differently. It weighs differently. He likes how it feels. Likes it’s balance. 

He feels like a child. Sitting in his room while all the adults talk about him. Waiting for whatever decision they decide. Alex had been stupid when he found out what happened. John’s not looking forward to Lafayette’s reaction. He’s not looking forward to what the aftermath is going to be. 

One more person getting angry on his behalf. Again. One more person reacting to one more thing. Again. He’s so tired of it all. 

Someone yells about something downstairs. He sets his sabre down. Leans it against the wall. Watches as the afternoon light shimmers off the metal edge. A door opens and closes. A car starts. He glances outside. Hercules is driving away. He hadn’t even known Hercules was here. 

“Lapin?” 

John looks up. Lafayette’s in the doorway. Hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s aged a year at least. “Sorry,” John murmurs. He tries not to to feel like he’s fucked it all up. Like he’s hurt Lafayette so badly that he’s ruined everything. He keeps ruining everything. 

Lafayette tilts his head a little. Frowning. He steps forward. More like marches forward. Closing the space between them. John’s heart clenches. His chest feels tight. This is dumb. Stupid. It’s Lafayette. He  _ knows  _ it’s Lafayette. And yet for some reason, the anxiety’s back. The concern is there. 

He doesn’t want to be touched right now. Doesn’t feel like it. If he wanted to be touched he’d be touching something. He’d be doing something else. Wearing something else. Being something else.  _ Damn it.  _ He’s not making any sense. 

Lafayette opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Shakes his head, then starts over. “I’m blunt.” It’s not what John’s expecting. He’s struggling to even piece together where Lafayette’s going with it. Or what he means. “I’m blunt...and I...do not always ask when I should.” 

No. 

_ No.  _

“You never did anything I didn’t want.” Lafayette rolls his eyes. Waves it off. “ _ Fuck you,”  _ John snaps out. He stands. Closes the gap between them. Toes nearly digging into Lafayette’s. “Fuck you,  _ Gil.  _ You never did anything I didn’t want. I wanted you. Every time.” 

“It is...not always sex.” 

What? 

John blinks. That doesn’t...make any sense either. 

“It does not always have to  _ be  _ sex. If you...if you feel as though you cannot say no to anything—”

“I can say ‘no’. I’m fully capable of saying ‘no.’” He can. He’s not a child. He’s not incapable. He can say ‘no.’ Just because he doesn’t...just because it’s easier to say ‘yes’...doesn’t meant that he  _ can’t  _ say ‘no.’ Doesn’t mean that he’s not able to refuse. 

He can do it. 

He’s not stupid. 

He told Alex just the other day. He said ‘no’ he didn’t want to go to the dorm. So he didn’t go. 

He’s not  _ stupid. _

“Please say it more often.” It’s a quiet request. It’s not a small one, though. It’s not an easy one. It’s thoughtless and rude, and John tells him as much. 

“If I want something, you want me to just say ‘no?’ Want me to just deny it so you’ll fe—”

“—Do not play the fool, John Laurens. You are not quite so stupid as that.” 

John shoves Lafayette back. He goes. Doesn’t fight. Doesn’t argue.  _ Fuck you.  _ John shoves him again. Again. Gets him up against a wall. He moves his hand up. Wraps it around Lafayette’s throat. But Lafayette doesn’t fight him. Doesn’t trade blows like they used to do before everything went to hell. Isn’t playing the game. 

It’s not  _ fair _ . “What, not going to fight me?” he growls out. “Not going to  _ bother?”  _ Lafayette doesn’t reply. Lets John squeeze a little against his throat. “What? What is it? Am I not fun anymore? Am I not a game?” 

It’s almost worth a repeat of Alex’s rage. It’s almost worth another night being reminded just how broken his is from his father. Being told how disgusting he is. Being relegated to the lowest class once more. Because Lafayette’s stillness? His hesitation? Is worse. 

“You’re a Goddamned  _ coward.”  _

“Am I?” Lafayette asks curiously. He finally pulls his hands from his pockets. Finally lifts them up. One plucks John’s wrist by his throat, pulling it away effortlessly. The other closes around John’s hip. Tugs him closer so their bodies are pressed against each other tight. 

For a split second, John can’t breathe. The contact’s too much suddenly. He jerks at his wrists. Lafayette just shifts. Turns so he’s folding John in a tight embrace. Keeping him pinned tight so he can’t move or react. “I have no difficulty taking you Lapin. Pinning you down and bruising your pretty skin. Biting you until you bleed. Making you mine.” 

He jerks John close. Runs his teeth over John’s throat. Nuzzling his face against John’s. “You’re tense, Lapin.” He is. John can feel his heart thundering rapidly in his chest. Can feel his head starting to fog and cloud. “Tell me no.” 

He can’t. 

He can’t do that. 

He can’t. 

He can’t. 

“No.” It’s barely a breath. Barely a whisper. He doesn’t think he actually said it. Thinks that it’d been just the shape of his mouth forming around the word. Nothing more. 

Lafayette releases John. He shifts away. John’s shaking. He stares at the space Lafayette vacated. “Thank you,” Lafayette says. John has no idea why.


	55. Chapter 55

Give John choices. 

Make them obvious. 

Get better at knowing when John’s muscling through something he doesn’t want to do and something he physically  _ can’t _ say no to. 

Pierre lines out a list of things Lafayette should look out for. Draws lines in the sand. “He’s not broken,” Pierre insists. “He’s not a shattered mirror that will never go back together. He is not a child. He knows what he wants. He reacts to what he wants. He has trouble  _ expressing  _ what he wants.” 

They talk for hours. Lafayette stays up, plotting it all to memory. 

He wants to know limits. Limitations. He wants to know what he can and cannot do. “You need to talk to John,” Pierre tells him. “You need to talk to him and decide what the best course of action is for the two of you.”

“This didn’t just happen,” Lafayette mutters only once. “This didn’t just happen. It happened last year. We’ve had sex since then. We’ve been together since then. Why should we change anything?” 

“I’m not telling you to be celibate,” Pierre snaps. “I’m telling you to check in more to make sure he wants what you’re doing, and stopping if he gets uncomfortable,  _ without making him feel like an idiot.  _ Because you’re going to piss him off.” 

Lafayette’s starting to feel like he already has. Everything he says or does feels like its in question. “Don’t treat him differently,” Pierre tells Lafayette, while at the same time telling him to treat John differently. 

Lafayette’s almost glad that John seems just as tired of dealing with it all as he is. By the time night falls and it’s time to sleep, Lafayette steps into the bedroom and shuts the door firmly behind him. “Do you want me to sleep here?” he asks. John glares at him and climbs into bed. Rolling on his side so there is plenty of room for him to join him. 

He’s grateful, really. Because he honestly doesn’t know what he would have done if John said no. If he’d needed to sleep on the couch in his own house. John grits his teeth and glares at the wall, and Lafayette lays inches away. It feels like a chasm has erupted between them. The silence of the bedroom far more tense and awkward than it had any right to be. 

“I don’t care that you were raped,” Lafayette says. Still scowling up at the ceiling. “I care that you are upset. That you are hurt. That you are still hurting.” 

“Don’t want to know how it happened?” John asks. He’s spitting mad. Agitated worse than he’d been earlier. When Lafayette had pressed just like Pierre told him not to, and he’d forced a reaction John hadn’t wanted to give. Lafayette is sick and tired of forcing reactions on John. On making him do things he doesn’t want to do. 

He wants his...John...to  _ want  _ him. Not feel compelled to be there. To be with him. To care. Lafayette clenches his hands into the blanket. “Do you want to tell me?” Lafayette asks. Then, because he feels like picking  _ this  _ particular fight, asks, “In English this time?” 

He should have expected the reply. John snaps something out in rapid Spanish that Lafayette can’t understand. He throws the blankets off the bed. Throws  _ himself  _ not long after. Stomping this way and that, John’s scowling. Muscles coiled and tense. 

Sighing, Lafayette sits up. “Why are you so mad?” he asks. 

“Fuck you,” John snaps out. Lafayette’s getting really tired of being cursed at. He grits his teeth. Biting back his temper. Pierre told him to watch his temper. Well. Easier said than done. “What the fuck does it matter what happened with Martha? What the fuck does any of it matter to  _ you? _ ” 

“It doesn’t,” Lafayette says. He told John as much earlier. Apparently it hadn’t sunk in yet. “You’re upset.” 

“I’m upset because you keep bringing it up.” 

Hardly. “You relapsed because of her.” 

“It was  _ one  _ fucking night. And I haven’t touched anything since.” When would he have had the time? He’s been babysat since then. Rarely left alone long enough to go out and—

That’s not fair. 

Lafayette grits his teeth. Presses his mouth tightly closed. It’s not fair, and it’s not true. John’s been alone plenty of times. He’s been alone long enough to do whatever he wanted, and he hadn’t gone to get more. He’s been good since then. He’s managed. “You’re right,” he says tightly. “You’re right.” 

The frantic pacing stops. John turns halfway. Arms crossed over his chest. Lafayette runs a hand over his hair. Patting it down somewhat into place. He tries to pull up the right words from the ether. Pierre would be better at this. 

But. Pierre’s not John’s... _ whatever.  _ “What are we?” Lafayette asks. Because he’s getting tired of figuring that out. Of coming up with euphemisms that always mean the same thing. 

John stares at him. Lips twisting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Are you my boyfriend?” Lafayette asks. The tension leaves John’s body down an open drain. Puddling around his feet. He sways a little, stumbling to catch himself on a dresser. He presses his hand against the wood, then slowly sinks down so he’s sitting on the floor. Lafayette crawls across the bed so he can look at him. So he can get close enough to meet his eye. 

“I’m a terrible boyfriend,” John mumbles. It’s not a denial. Not a dismissal. But he brings his knees up to his chest, and he wraps his arms around them. 

“Yeah, well, I am too.” Getting off the bed, he kneels in front of John. “May I touch you,  _ lapin?” _ John nods, so he lightly pushes at the knees. Crawls between them and slowly trails his fingers up to cup the sides of John’s face. Holding it tenderly. “I care for you, John Laurens.” 

He doesn’t say  _ I love you, _ but he thinks he means it.


	56. Chapter 56

_I care for you._

The words are sweet. Genuinely sweet. They make John’s heart flutter in a good way. Make his cheeks flush. “Why?” he asks. Because as nice as the sentiment is, he can’t understand the _why._ “I’m rude. I have mood swings. I’m antagonistic. I made you change your mind. Made you come after me when I was...chasing drugs...a couple of times. Hell, I fucked half my dealers for a score. Why would you even want me in your life?”

The thumbs on his cheeks start stroking at his skin. It’s so easy to close his eyes. Lean into the gentle touch. Feel the way Lafayette pushes some of the tension away. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep. Hot spikes of anger leaving him an exhausted mess in their absence.

“You do not get to decide who I care about,” Lafayette tells John. “You do not get to dictate how I feel. And I shall not do the same to you. What you feel is what you feel, _oui?_ There are no...how you say...good reasons for it?”

He has a point. Though truthfully, John feels as though he somehow tricked Lafayette into caring for him. Tricked him into spending all his time and money on getting John back up on his feet.

“I’ve never...been someone’s boyfriend.” John’s body feels tired. Worn down. Heavy. Lafayette strokes his face. His arms. They’re nice touches. Gentle little trails of good will. And John can’t explain it. Can’t explain how one minute the idea that they’d be touching is _far too much_ and the next, it’s so comforting he’d lose his mind without it.

He’s exhausted with trying to figure it all out.

Exhausted in general.

“Not Alex?” Lafayette asks, curiously.

John snorts. “Called him my girlfriend once,” he reveals. “Back when Martha…” Are they really going to talk about this now? John twists his lips. Yeah. Yeah he’ll talk now. While he can. Before he runs out of the ability to say it. “My father told me to bring my girlfriend to a party. I wanted Alex to go.”

Lafayette doesn’t say anything. Just keeps stroking. He brings a hand up to John’s head. Strokes his curls. Flattening them a little. It feels nice. John shifts. Turns a bit so he can give Lafayette more access. Lafayette obliges. Keeps stroking.

“Alex got all dressed up. Ran around my apartment in heels for a week.”

“Your apartment?” Lafayette asks.

“I didn’t live with my father.” He leaves it at that. Lafayette doesn’t press. “I took Martha instead.” Took her, and then had sex with her upstairs. Because that’s the kind of classy guy he was. “First time I think I ever made my dad proud.”

The last time the man ever looked at him with something bordering on acceptance. Not that it’d been hard to claim what they had prior was a healthy relationship. The scar on his head wasn’t the only wound his father left. Even if it might be the only physical sign.

“Coupla days after...Alex told Martha I said ‘no’. Called her out on it right in school. She didn’t know. I don’t talk good. I don’t...I don’t...I didn’t say it so she’d understand. And Alex made her out to be this predator. This person who brutally attacked me in some alley. And that’s not what happened. I could have stopped it at anytime. I didn’t get raped. I just didn’t have fun.”

The hand stops stroking John’s hair. It hesitates. Hovering for a moment before shifting. Moving to capture John’s chin and tilt it up. “Everyone keeps calling it a rape,” John mutters. “Keeps making her out to be this villain. This...flatly written, poorly developed, villain whose only purpose is to cause pain before skulking away into the dark. That’s not what happened?”

“How did it happen?” Lafayette asks quietly.

“I—I don’t know.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t know why he didn’t just push Martha off him. Why he didn’t just say _fuck you dad,_ and walk out. Alex destroyed his relationship with his father. So if that was going to be the result anyway? Why didn’t he just say 'no' to begin with? Why didn’t he just accept the consequences then? Without leading Martha on? Without ruining her life? “It just happened.” It happened, and he thinks he said ‘no’ at the time, but he honestly can’t remember anymore.

And with Martha’s reaction...he doesn’t want her to be hurt. He doesn’t want her to feel so guilty she felt _suicidal_ over it. He should have just answered those texts. Because ignoring them led to this, and that’s not fair. He doesn’t want her death on him.

“That’s not my fault,” he whispers. _Fuck._ He’s crying. He brings his hands to swat at the tears, and he winces. It’s not fair. “It’s not my fault.” Lafayette moves. Pulls him close. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to, and she just. I don’t want her to die. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her to do that. I just wanted to be left alone. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

He presses his head against Lafayette’s chest. Lets the man drag him into his lap fully. Lets him hold him tight. How did they even get here? John didn’t want to talk about it, either. Yet here they are. And he’s sobbing. He’s _sobbing._ He can’t stop. He tries to, but he can’t manage it.

He’s sobbing harder and harder, and Lafayette just holds him. Doesn’t say a word. Just holds him and strokes his hair. Lets him make a snotty mess on his shirt. Lets him fuck everything up one more time.

“It’s not my fault,” John says again. Whining hitches popping up and down in his throat.

Lafayette kisses his temple. “It’s not your fault, _mon amour.”_

He says it again. “It’s not your fault.”

Still. John doesn’t believe it. He can’t.


	57. Chapter 57

On Saturday morning, Lafayette takes John up to Pete's Pavilion. It's a poorly named hiking trail that has no actual pavilion. But the trail is windy and long. Curving this way and that. Well organized and maintained all things considered. John's been damn near bursting out of his skin since the week's revelations, running hot and cold with such speed that Lafayette never knows what to expect.

He's more than a little grateful for the break he gets when John agrees to the hike. Especially when they actually get to the trail. Escaping the somewhat awkward silence of the car. John spent the ride mostly nibbling on his thumbnail.

"Tell me about school?" Lafayette had offered weakly. It earned him a spectacular look of annoyance.

Still, John did reply. Mumbling, "Pierre's been helping me to stay on track," while still refusing to make eye contact or any sign he was interested in the conversation.

They traded a few words here or there. John grudgingly going along with the various topics Lafayette took to exploring. If he showed even the slightest bit of interest, Lafayette pursued the avenue as best he could. Even knowing he didn't have a complete picture.

By the time they had arrived at the trail head, Lafayette was endlessly grateful for a change of pace. So too was John. He leaned down and retied his shoes more tightly. Zipping up his jacket before nodding at Lafayette that they could start.

And once they started? They didn't stop.

Originally, Lafayette had planned to just go for a walk, but their pace picked up speed as time went on. Now, they jog easily through the woods. Carefully avoiding sticks and loose branches. Leaping over fallen trees in the reckless way Lafayette loves. John has no trouble scrambling. No trouble ducking under low hanging branches or avoiding muddy patches.

He's sure-footed, and it's on the tip of Lafayette's tongue to make a joke about John being so good at running away from his problems. But he's working on _not_ pissing John off at the moment. He doubts that comment will help.

They make good time on the trail, though. The whole hike lasts about two and a half miles, and they jog through most of it. By the time the reach the top, the sun's hit a nice peak in the sky. Casting a pale yellow gaze down on the pre-spring field. The 'Pavilion', if it could really be called that, consisted of a poorly built lean-to on top of a grassy knoll. Pine trees tower on all sides, but the hill is nice. Affording a good view of the surrounding mountains.

Sitting down on the wooden planks, Lafayette waves John over. Tilts his head and waits as John finished the last few strides. Settling down at Lafayette's side. They won't be able to sit for long. Soon, they'll need to get up. Move around some. Get the blood flowing once more. It's not warm enough to just sprawl out and relax.

Maybe in a few months.

"Spring break is soon." It starts next Friday. They haven't talked about it. Haven't mentioned any plans.

John's eyes close and he leans back. Stretching his spine against the wood. The floor's filthy, but he doesn't seem to care. Turning over, Lafayette leans onto his side. Rests his head against his palm. Uses his other hand to trace his fingers over John's shirt.

The touch earns him a light smile. Nothing worth writing home about, but certainly better than the grimacing frown John'd been maintaining lately. When John doesn't acknowledge his statement, Lafayette presses on. "I'd..." no. That's presumptive and guilt-tripping. Shaking his head, he tries "Did you have plans?"

Regardless of which question he asked, John's smile still slipped away. His brown eyes still avoided looking Lafayette directly. His mood still remained somewhat sour. "I don't know," he admits quietly. "Stayed at Alex's over winter, but..." But he's ignoring Alex at the moment.

Avoiding him as best he can. Lafayette used to get daily text messages asking for updates. But those have tapered off some. Replaced by weekly messages instead. Alex still does his best to physically show up before or after John's classes, but John's made excuses and begged off whenever he could.

Lafayette's almost positive Alex has no idea what he'd done to deserve it too. A part of Lafayette wonders if John's even rationalized it out yet. If even knows why he keeps putting distance between him and his best friend.

"You should talk to him," Lafayette offers. "Before break."

"And say what?" John looks up at him. Openly curious.

Shrugging, Lafayette moved to trace a hand up toward John's face. Lightly caressing skin before sliding through his thick mane. A bit damp from sweat, the curls have flattened by John's scalp. Crinkling rather than forming dainty little ringlets. "Why you have distanced yourself?"

"And say what?" John repeats. His tone's gone flat like his hair.

John's being purposefully obtuse. Playing the fool. Lafayette sighs. Shakes his head and adjusts his seat so he can stretch. "You are angry at him." At least John doesn't pretend that's wrong. Doesn't ignore the fact that Lafayette's telling him the truth. He just stares up at Lafayette. Waiting. "He is your beloved. You should talk to him."

"I thought _you_ were my beloved."

It's a flawless redirect. Meant to side-track Lafayette. And it works. Lafayette tilts his head to the side. Lets John think he distracted him, if only because Lafayette has nothing more to say on the matter. "Am I your beloved, _mon amour?"_ He reaches out to trace his hand over John's face. His lips.

Pierre told him to go slow. To look to see if John ever hesitated or didn't want any kind of contact. Pierre told him that he needed to expect changes. Needed to respect John's need for space.

John doesn't want to be treated like a broken doll. Lafayette traces his lips. And John says, "Yes."


	58. Chapter 58

Lafayette honestly looks _touched_ by his response. John feels his cheeks starting to burn. He said the most sappy thing to ever be spoken, and Lafayette's actually _touched_ by it. Shifting a little away from Lafayette's careful touch, John sits up. "Don't need to make a big deal out of it," he mutters.

Lafayette grinning though. Looks like a ridiculous child. He wraps his arms around John's body and tugs him close. Wide smile pressing against John's neck as he teases, "This is not a _big deal_ ." He laughs loudly. "This is simply _wonderful_ news. I knew I could convert you."

It's hard not to grin. Hard not to roll his eyes. Feel like he's dealing with a particularly dim child. John squirms. Struggling to break free. Lafayette doesn't let him go, but he does hoist them both up to their feet.

He does whirl John around and laugh until John ends up laughing too. Shoving him off and standing on his own. "You goof." He is. He's a complete goof. Expression so absurdly _pleased_ that John can hardly believe his face is still properly attached.  

Lafayette grins wickedly at him. "What shall we do now, _beloved?_ " John shakes his head. Turns to head back down the trail. Lafayette hurries to catch up. "Come now. Come on. You cannot simply walk away. I am your beloved. You said so yourself."

"I take it back," John mutters. "I take it back. You were right. Alex—"

"No. No. Do not replace me for _ma chaton,"_ He's clutching his heart. Playing his part so excessively that John needs to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The man's entirely over the top. Completely unnecessary. He slides his hand into John's. Swings it back and forth. Like they're school children. Like they're a real couple and not a complete mess.

"Not sure I could if I wanted to. Think he's dating Burr now."

If the snort's anything to go by, Lafayette believes it as much as John does. "Does _Burr_ know they're dating?"

"You never know with him."

John thought he and Alex were dating in high-school too. But by the seventh time Alex had come home to tell him about his latest romp, John set that idea to rest for good. "Mads said Alex has been over their place a lot since. That Burr and Alex got along?" They could just be fucking.

That's more Alex's MO. But...John hasn't exactly spoken to Alex long enough to find out. Which returns them back to Lafayette's initial comment. He should talk to Alex. And he should get his grievances out in the open.

"It's harder with him than with you." If Lafayette is confused by the non-sequitur, he doesn't show it. Just nods his head and keeps swinging John's hand like a pendulum.

"I was not there when it happened."

No. He wasn't. But John can't honestly imagine Lafayette having a _better_ reaction. Can't honestly see Lafayette just sitting there, nodding his head, and saying all is well. No. That's not true. He can. Lafayette had walked away and let John get a beating because John had been determined to get one. He'd stayed back, making sure that John wasn't hurt _too_ badly, but he'd let it happen.

It's almost masochistic to ask, but he does anyway, "Would you have outed me?"

Lafayette doesn't respond right away. Keeps swinging John's arm with excessive enthusiasm. Keeps walking them forward. They make it another five hundred yards before Lafayette asks for the context. How _had_ Alex done it?

John explains. Explains the argument with Martha in the classroom. Explains walking out of school to find his father waiting for him. Explains his father requesting that they leave together. Explains Alex showing up and the words he said.

"That's when he gave you that scar?" Lafayette asks. Jutting his chin towards John's temple.

"No, I had that before." He stops walking and points to a smaller scar that hides between a couple of the freckles on his cheek. "Got this one 'round then, though." He drags his finger down to another spot. "And this one here." There are dozens of little micro-scars. All littered across his skin. Most of them are tiny and inconsequential. They healed well, or they healed around freckles and birthmarks so they're hard to see.

Lafayette cups John's face between his palms. Squinting as he peers closer. John forgot how subtle they could be. Especially the one curving around the inside of his nose. Remembering only when Lafayette kisses it lightly, before stepping back. Reclaiming John's hand once again.

"Your Alex made a mistake," Lafayette starts. They've continued moving down the trail. Losing themselves into the trees. The sun no longer beams directly overhead, it's cold again. "He should not have confronted your father as he did."

Lafayette agrees on that point, however John can _feel_ the 'but' coming.

"But, his fears were not unfounded."

"I know that." How is he supposed to tell Alex that he's mad about it, when Henry Laurens did the exact thing Alex had been afraid he'd do? When Alex had been the one who needed to drag him home. Clean his face. Check his concussion?

"He'd been nice. Before...after..."

Lafayette tilts his head again. Like a dog listening to music. Picking up on some strange sound only he could puzzle out. "You wanted his approval?" he asks. Licking his lips, John nods.

"Just didn't want to disappoint him." Because maybe if he wasn't a disappointment, he'd actually be like everyone else. And he'd have a family too. He'd have someone to go home to. Someone who cared. "Guess I just missed my mom...wanted to go home." He huffs. "That's never going to happen now."

John can just make out their car at the trailhead. Can just see it through the trees. Lafayette squeezes his hand again. Then asks, "Would you like to see my home?"

And for a moment, John doesn't know what to say.


	59. Chapter 59

At around eight, Madison stops by the house to check in on John. He's the only one of John's friends John actually seems to _like_ talking to these days, so Lafayette steps back and gives them some space. Pierre and Hercules had gone out to dinner, which leaves Lafayette to try and figure out what their plan were going to be for break. 

He'd offered to take John home on a lark. Hadn't really thought the question through. And now that he's there. Now that it's back in circulation, he's finding that he doesn't actually want to move forward. Doesn't want to partake.

He's been here before. He's brought a friend home and he's watched as they interacted with his _amazing_ parents who are _so nice_ and _so sweet_. He's ground his teeth as his parents did their best to make his friend happy. Make the entire trip a memorable experience from start to finish.

They'd love John. If what Hercules said about Pierre was true, they'd probably adopt him on the spot. Sink their claws in and never let him go. Never let him see the light of day. He'd be their live-in _whatever_ and he'd never get out of their web of lies and false pretenses.

Sighing, Lafayette flicks open his laptop. Starts looking at plane tickets idly. They don't have to go to France. They could go somewhere else. Someplace less...crowded. John would like that. He thinks. The fewer people the better. John hates crowds. Hates being surrounded by people.

Hates being smothered.

_Definitely don’t bring him home._

Maman would never let him breathe. She'd sit there next to him day in and day out. Let's talk. Let's be friends. Tell me everything. Your clothes look worn. Here, wear this instead. Eat this. Do this. Some with me. This shall be fun.

"Why did I even bring it up?" Lafayette mutters. Rubbing at his eyes. John laughs in the other room. Madison's low chuckle joining in. It's nice to hear John laugh about something. Especially with someone else.

One of Madison's talents so far had been avoiding talking about the relapse or John's mental health at all. From what Lafayette could tell, Madison generally stayed on safe topics. Conversations they'd already had. Books they both had read. Movies they both enjoyed.

Lafayette's grateful that John has that in Madison. Has someone else, besides Lafayette, who doesn't share the same confusing history as Alex. Who can serve as a good friend while John's still trying to get his feet back on the ground.

Who can hold out a hand when John's waves of depression start becoming more prominent. Who can ease the crashing when it occurs.

 _Maybe John'd want to spend break with Madison?_ It's not...a _bad_ idea, Lafayette supposes. They were friends first. And Madison's not dealing anymore. Made a point to mention it last time he and Lafayette were alone together. Even if he still had been, Madison had tried to get John clean earlier.

So...

 _Not France._ Is as far as Lafayette's gotten on planning. And it left far too many options.

What to do with Pierre? He'd come all the way here to chaperone. It seems wrong to leave him behind.

And Hercules...no. Hercules would go back to his house. That's a non-starter.

John's made it clear Alex is off the table.

Closing out of tabs and windows, he pauses briefly on one of the pages he'd had open from a few weeks before. NCAA fencing rules and regulations. Once they'd gotten involved in practicing more, Lafayette had needed to look up the exact tenets to refresh his memory. Pierre had taught him how to fence years ago. And much like how a kid intuitively knows how to kick a ball into the net, Lafayette knows the basics only.

He hadn't competed since before he left France. Never thought he'd be involved in the sport again. In any capacity. Even showing John had been more of a way to distract him than anything else. He hadn't really thought John would take to it like a fish to water.

Frowning, Lafayette scrolls to the bottom of the page. Scanning for contact information or facility locations. He's just about had the idea solidified by the time Madison pokes his head in the room. "We're getting a pizza," he informs brightly.

"Ah, sausage et mushrooms, s'il te plait?" Lafayette asks, closing his laptop and settling it to the side. Madison nods and shouts the information to John. Who promptly shouts back he doesn't have a phone.

"What happened to your old one?" Madison asks, pulling his mobile from his pocket and scrolling through his contacts for the number. John rounds the corner. Shrugging. Hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Lost it a few weeks ago." When he was high.

Oh. Lafayette hadn't thought of that. Hadn't even questioned the object's disappearance. Madison doesn't comment. Just hits send and lifts his cell to his ear. Politely turning aside to make his order. "I can buy you a new one?" Lafayette asks.

John bites his lip. Shrugging again. "I don’t...don't need another voicemail from...someone."

He's right. He doesn't. With everything else he's going through, he doesn’t need another trigger. Another bad memory to send him off the deep end. To give him a reason to break down. "Already proved I'm not so good at handling shit," John mumbles awkwardly.

Madison finishes his call. "Twenty minutes," he says. Then he points at John's chest. "You're handling shit just fine. You're still standing here, aren't you? Still got this weirdo lookin' out for you."

"You say the nicest things, Monsieur Madison." Not willing to be dissuaded, though, Lafayette returned his attention to John. “If it’s about money…” John stares at him for a moment. Biting his lip. Pensive. Uncertain.

Then. Quietly, as if the mere whisper of the words could break glass, he says “I don’t want one…”

“Then you don’t get one.” The conversation is over.


	60. Chapter 60

They’re all sitting around eating pizza. John’s got his legs kicked up on Lafayette’s chair. Madison is sipping at one of the micro-brews Lafayette is real snooty over. The two of them are laughing about something, and John’s even halfway through his second slice.

And John’s stuck.

_Then you don’t get one._

Since the moment the words left Lafayette’s mouth, John’s been waiting for the shoe to fall. He’s been waiting for the moment when the bargaining came in. _What about a flip phone? What about a phone where only I know your number? I promise I won’t give it out to anyone?_ He’s been waiting for the slow pressure of guilt. _Don’t you know how inconvenient you not having a phone is?_

It’s only been an hour.

There’s still time for all this to start. But. It hasn’t started _yet._ If anything, Lafayette seems to have forgotten the conversation. Madison too. Neither so much as mention phones or communication. They just move about like everything’s normal. Everything’s fine.

John takes another bite of his pizza. Swallows it down thickly as Madison tells another story. Something about one of his siblings that he just heard.

They get along well. Lafayette and Madison. They seem to honestly enjoy speaking to each other and telling tales. John licks his lips. Chasing pizza sauce as he tries to work out his place in this conversation. “You got any siblings?” Madison asks Lafayette.

“Only child,” Lafayette replies. “Though Hercules and I are as close as brothers. Not unlike you and Alex hmm?” Lafayette asks, side-eyeing John.

“Yes unlike us. You and Mulligan don’t fuck on a regular basis,” John replies. Madison rolls his eyes, and Lafayette snorts.

“Yes, unlike in that regard,” Lafayette concedes. Grinning. He reaches over and threads his fingers through John’s squeezing his hand lightly. It’s nice. He likes it. Squeezes back as he finishes his slice. Chewing on his crust slowly.

Madison looks contemplative, though. Expression clouded and confused. “Ya’ll have a weird relationship.”

“In what way?” Lafayette asks. He’s smiling. At ease.  

“I don’t know. Most people aren’t so casual ‘bout who they slept with is all.”

“Sleeping with,” Lafayette corrects, though John’s not so sure anymore. He hasn’t slept with Alex in a while. Doesn’t even know if he and Alex can still be considered friends. Their silences have only started growing more extreme. Their lapses, more poignant. If it keeps up...there’s not going to _be_ a John and Alex anymore.

Lafayette’s still talking, but John interrupts. “How is he?” He honestly doesn’t know. And...that hurts more than it probably should. He’s the one making the choice not to reach out. He can’t be upset when he doesn’t know certain things.

“Okay?” Madison shrugs. “He hangs out ‘round our dorm a lot. He and Aaron get along better than I’d’ve thought. And….he’s been...less abrasive lately. He always been real’ touchy feely?”

It’s strange. Giving Madison advice on Alex. Talking about Alex like he was a stray memory he happens to be aware of. “Yeah,” John mumbles. “Yeah...he’s...he’s always been like that.”

Always rushing in. Always leaping before he looked. Always talking without thinking.

He ran up to John in high school. Decided that they were going to be friends. Took him by the hand and pulled him place to place. Didn’t even care that John had a hard time speaking. That he couldn’t always get what he wanted out. That he had never had a friend before.

Alex always held out his hand. Promising that he’d never leave him behind. That he’d always be there. They used to curl up on John’s bed and John would listen for hours as Alex chattered away.

Alex had been the first one to kiss John. The first one to pull him close. The first one to do everything with him. He’s a hurricane. A storm. Never to be controlled or tethered down.

And John is the tree on the hill. Standing still and weathering the storm. Reaching out to try to drink water from its rains. Even if those rains drown his roots. Even if the winds strip his bark bare.

“He misses you too,” Madison reveals quietly. John nods his head. Can’t quite meet Madison’s eyes in the process though.

“I’m going to stay with Laf for spring break…” John murmurs. He tightens his hand around Lafayette’s.

“I think Aaron mentioned something about the two of them doing something as well…? If you were busy…?” John nods. He’s busy. He’s going to be busy for a while.

If he sees Alex, he’ll say something he doesn’t mean to say. He’ll do something that he’ll regret. It’s not right. It’s not fair. But it’s all he has.

He bites his lip and casts a glance toward Lafayette. But Lafayette doesn’t judge him. Doesn’t tell him what to do. Doesn’t sway his vote one way or another. Lafayette merely nods. Accepts John’s opinion and respects his will.

 _Do not allow anyone to lead you away from the choices you make,_ Pierre had told John only a few nights ago. _They can give advice. They can offer their opinions, but at the end of the day — your opinion is yours. Do not go along with someone because it will make_ them _happy. Do it because_ you _want it. No more no less._

It’s easier said than done. So much easier.

Lafayette still hasn’t pressured him to take the phone. His best friend is leaving for break with a boy he just met.

And it’s because John’s not willing to talk. Not willing to say everything’s okay.

John wishes he knew what to do. Wishes he had a pithy answer to everything that could make it all better. But instead, he squeezes Lafayette’s hand. “Tell him...to have a good time.” It’s the only thing he can offer.

And Madison doesn’t judge. Doesn’t cast his opinion or try to sway John’s own. Just nods his head, and agrees.


	61. Chapter 61

It’s a long car ride to New York City. Lafayette and John pack the car around dawn Saturday morning. Mid-terms done. Classes closed for a while. Madison sends Lafayette a farewell text for them both. Alex does much the same. Wishing John a good break. Not asking for John to text back. Not saying where he’s going. 

Lafayette tells John about both messages, but only Madison gets a response. A happy emoticon. A ‘see you after break!’

John climbs into the front seat and settles in for the long drive. He buckles his seatbelt. Tugs the strap into place. Curls deep into a sweatshirt and leans against the door. One hand wrapped around the handle while Lafayette pulls out onto the main road. 

They’ll be on Interstates for the most part. Highway driving that will take them all the way along the western tier of New York. Interstate 86 and its endless curls and hills. “Have you ever been to Manhattan?” Lafayette asks John once they get started. 

He doesn’t reply for a while. Instead, he just tilts his head toward the window. Lifts a nail to his lips and starts biting. “ _ Mi madre... _ she took me. Once. When I was...seven? Eight? Right before she died.” Lafayette watches as mile markers drift past. Speeders zooming along on the right. Eager to travel across the state and get exactly where they intend to go. “We...went to this restaurant. It...was like a cafe? And they had this drink...too big for one person. But it was sweet. Really sweet. Frozen hot chocolate.” 

“What is a  _ frozen  _ hot chocolate?” Lafayette asks. It sounds fake. John shrugs. 

“Never had it anywhere else. Don’ know. Jus’. Remember it is all...” he trails off. Squirrels himself deeper into his sweatshirt. Biting his thumbnail even harder. 

When Lafayette first brought up the idea of going to New York, John had been pensive. He’d agreed to spending the vacation with Lafayette, yes. And he’d even accepted Lafayette’s redirect in regards to visiting his family. But, John hadn’t exactly been  _ thrilled  _ with the idea of going.

He’d confirmed again and again that John was okay with it. Pierre even checked in privately to make sure. John agreed each time. Insisted that he wanted this. That it was something he wanted to do. Sighing, Pierre gave John a brisk hug, wished him and Lafayette well, and waved them off. 

From what Lafayette understood, Pierre intended to fly back to France to take care of some business before coming back over sometime after break. Giving them space...but not space. He’d asked John to call him if he ever needed someone to talk to, and John promised. Smiling a real smile as he returned Pierre’s embrace. 

“Car accident,” John says suddenly. Lafayette glances about the road. He can’t see it. Frowning, he’s about to ask what John means, when John explains on his own. “Mama died...in a car accident.” 

Not long after their trip to New York, apparently. “Shall we find this cafe?” Lafayette asks. Frozen hot chocolate cannot be too difficult to track down. If it still exists. Wherever it is. 

John pulls his thumb away from his lips. “We don’t have to…”

“We’ve got two weeks, mon amour.  _ Two weeks.  _ I am certain that in two weeks we can find your cafe.” 

“What are we going to do the rest of the time?” John asks curiously. 

“I do believe we should have sex in Central Park at least once, non?” John’s head whips around so fast that it takes everything in Lafayette’s power not to crack a smile. John’s cheeks are flushed. His eyes wide. After a moment, even  _ he  _ starts struggling to keep his expression un-amused and disinterested. 

John bats his eyes at him. “Tell me what you’d do to me,” leans his chin on his hand and shifts in his seat. 

“It has been  _ so  _ long since I’ve bared your body in public.” 

“Anointed the trash cans with my sweat,” John nods. Going along with the absurdity of it all. 

How they’d never been caught, Lafayette still wants to know. He’s grateful they’ve actually advanced to beds and tables. Couches. Not only does John  _ deserve  _ such niceties, but Lafayette certainly feels far more comfortable with it all. 

His knees aren’t scraped raw when they’re done. His skin isn’t frigid with frostbite. Though feeling John’s breath, watching it puff and freeze in the air, certainly had been tantalizing while it lasted. 

“I’m sure there’s a tree we can find. A wall we can...borrow.” 

“You’re going to get us arrested,” John warns. 

Lafayette shakes his head. 

“How can I possibly get us arrested? No one will know that we’re there.” 

“Planning on outrunning the cops?” 

“Well, it’s nothing I haven’t done  _ before.”  _ John’s laughing. Snickering in short bursts that he hides behind his hand. Coughing intermittently in an attempt to smother it. 

They’ve been working on this all week. The teasing. The bantering. Finding their way back to a moment where every second of every day isn’t wrapped around John’s relapse. John’s struggle with sobriety. 

He’s back on even footing again. No longer physically craving the drugs or thinking about them every waking second. Though there are times late at night that Lafayette  _ feels _ how restless John is, and  _ knows  _ John would do anything to just have the easy passage from wakefulness to sleep. 

“You were a rebel, were you?” John asks. 

“I was me,” Lafayette corrects. “Did you expect anything less?” 

John just grins. “Nothing less. Not from you.” 

The GPS brightly announces that they have another six hours to go. John sighs and gets a little more settled. He holds out his hand and Lafayette takes it. As far as car trips go, this could be far worse.

Instead of letting silence grow, John whips about and punches him in the arm. “Punch buggy, no punch backs.” 

Lafayette has no idea what John’s talking about. But he is  _ going  _ to find out. 


	62. Chapter 62

By the time they get to Manhattan, John’s  _ positive  _ his left arm is going to fall off. It’s either bruised to the core, or legitimately broken. There is no other excuse. He’s been rubbing at it miserably for the past hour and a half, and Lafayette’s trying not to do the same to his  _ right  _ arm. 

Somewhere around the Bear Mountain Expressway, they’d needed to call an unhappy truce (a cease-fire really), because if they kept going they were  _ going  _ to get into an accident. Lafayette already swerved badly once, and it set John’s hair on end for the next twenty miles. They didn’t need a repeat. No matter how much Lafayette seemed to have trouble remembering  _ no punch backs  _ meant  _ no God damn punch backs.  _

There must have been a buggy convention, and a PT cruiser convention, because everywhere they looked there had been another one. Red cars also joined the list. As did cars missing exactly one headlight. And maybe they should have stuck to one game, because adding in them all only meant that they were both  _ aching  _ by the time Lafayette found a parking garage. 

“You’ve broken me,” John whines, opening his door. 

“Not yet I haven’t,” Lafayette tells him right back. He pops the trunk and it doesn’t take much to grab their bags. 

John loops his backpack over his shoulders. Takes his fencing bag and holds it in one hand. His sports bag in the other. Lafayette had insisted that John bring his fencing gear. And so that’s exactly what he did. Even if it did seem a tad excessive. 

Following Lafayette out of the garage, John can’t help but look around. The tall towers of the city are...well. Tall. They stand imperiously. So high that John can barely see the lips of the roofs up above. He leans back to look at it. To stare at them all. 

Lafayette lets him linger. Lets him get side tracked at the windows. The food carts. The pedestrians who hurried this way and that. All of them talking on their cell phones and going a mile a minute. There’s a  _ hell  _ of a lot of people here, and John can feel his anxiety start to rise. Can feel his nerves start fraying just a little. 

The crowds closing in on him. Refusing to let him breathe. “This way,” Lafayette encourages, and John trots after. Following as best he can. Still distracted by all the sights and sounds. 

The Waldorf Astoria is just as palatial as John thought it’d be. Just by stepping through the door, John feels like he’s walking back in time. His fingers squeeze tight around the straps of his bags, and Lafayette is ignorant to the gold and marble as he approaches the front desk. 

The lady behind the counter blinks at Lafayette. And John’s made acutely aware of the fact that he’s in a ratty high school sweat-shirt and his shoes are fraying around the rubber. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Bites his lip and glances around at the people milling about. 

They’re all wearing fancy clothes and fancy heels. The ladies have make up. The men have ties. He rubs at his fingers as best he can considering he’s holding two bags up. “We have a room booked,” Lafayette tells the lady without so much as a brief sign of concern. He’s perfectly relaxed here. 

Like this. 

He doesn’t seem to realize that they’re standing out. That they look like... _ thugs... _ And John hates that. Hates feeling like they’re all judging him. Whispering amongst themselves. One family exits the elevator. They cast their eyes toward John and Lafayette. Immediately taking hold of their young daughter’s hand and guiding her as far away from them as possible. 

Lafayette gets the room cards and thanks the woman at the counter. He whistles to catch John’s attention, then leads him to the elevator. “Hungry, mon amour?” he asks. 

John shakes his head. If he’s going to stay here, he’s going to  _ stay here _ . He’s not going to leave his room unless he absolutely has to. Not going to subject himself to their judgements and stereotypes if he can avoid it. 

Lafayette shrugs and starts prattling on about room service and what they could order. He’s got it all planned out. Has been here before. “On business trips, as a child,” he explains with a shrug. It’s a peculiarly innocent image.

Swiping his card against the door, Lafayette leads them into the room. And John stops. Stares. It’s not just a room. It’s a  _ suite _ . A suite with a couch. A television sitting room area. A bed. A bathroom bigger than John’s apartment back in highschool. 

“This cost—”

“—Just what it should.” Lafayette kisses the side of John’s head. 

Pierre had warned John about this. Warned him about Lafayette’s complete inability to understand money and how it worked.  _ He came from wealth, and he has never been taught how to manage his wealth. He’s got more than he can spend, and sometimes it’s easier to just let him spend it. Even if it is excessive.  _

“This is excessive,” John whispers. “It’s...it’s  _ very  _ excessive.” 

Lafayette nods slowly. He drops his bags; closes and locks the door. He steps forward and he cups John’s face between his palms. “I want to spoil you,” he says simply. “And I want to ravish you.” 

John licks his lips. Blinking wide eyed as Lafayette starts nudging him toward the bed. “Oh…”

Lafayette pushes John back. Gets him up and settled. He leans down. And the kiss is nice. The kiss is always nice. But Lafayette’s pressing in close. He’s crowding. And the room is gaudy and gold. The carpets are perfectly clean. There’s a  _ view  _ outside his window. 

It’s expensive. It’s really fucking expensive. 

And Lafayette  _ should  _ get rewarded for this. He should...he should…

The kiss gets deeper. 

John jerks his head back. 

Lafayette freezes. John’s shaking his head.

He says no.


	63. Chapter 63

John’s pale. He’s more pale than the white sheets his hair is sprawled against. The pillows just inches to his right. He looks faintly ill. Like he’s done or said something wrong and is going to be punished for it. Is going to be broken for it. 

And Lafayette won’t lie. He’s disappointed. He’s disappointed, because he’s thought of this since they were in the car. Thought about splaying John out and making him sing. About testing just how sound proof these walls actually are. Thought about tying John to the bed and watching him squirm. Feeling him writhe. 

But, “No,” John had gasped. And  _ no  _ is the only thing he needs to say. Lafayette steps back. 

_ He’s going to push,  _ Pierre had said.  _ Test boundaries. See just what he can get away with. Let him. It’s not your job to question it. It’s your job to be his friend. To listen when he wants you to. To offer advice  _ only  _ after he asks for it.  _

“I...I….it feels...It’s just...the...it’s really expensive.” John presses a hand to his face. Fingers folding over his eyes. Hiding him from view. “It’s...it’s really expensive. I don’t…”

Don’t  _ what?  _ Lafayette feels like they’re on two different pages here. Yes, the hotel may be pricier than other places that they could be, but it’s nice? And they don’t have to worry about bedbugs or unsanitary floors. They’re going to be here for a few weeks. Why not enjoy themselves a little? 

John’s hand slides off his face, and he sits up. Kicking his shoes off so he can pull his legs up onto the mattress. He looks small and awkward. Uncomfortable and uncertain. He keeps running a hand over his mouth. As though he were wiping the words away before they can even form. 

“I can’t...I can’t give anything back?” he mumbles. “Make it even…” 

That...doesn’t make any sense. “I wasn’t expecting you to pay for anything?” Lafayette asks slowly. “Why would I?” 

The question gains him a scowl. And John drops his hands to his lap. Rubbing anxiously at the skin wrapping about his knuckles. Pushing tender flesh this way and that. “I’m no freeloader.” 

“You’re not. You’re my boyfriend.” 

Wide eyes blink up at him. Owlish and surprised. Dare he say it,  _ confused.  _ It’s not like they haven’t spoken about this. Not like this is a strange concept. John even admitted to caring for him the other day. So why he looks so bizarrely unaware of the application of the word, Lafayette hasn’t got the faintest notion. 

“Right…” John breathes out. “Your boyfriend…” 

“You don’t need to pay for anything. I have money.” 

“I don’t.” As if that hadn’t been painfully obvious from the beginning. Lafayette’s more than aware that John isn’t wealthy. Doesn’t come from wealth. Why would he? That doesn’t matter in the slightest. “I...it’s  _ a lot. _ ” 

“Here?” Lafayette confirms. “It’s...it’s a hotel? It’s just things.” 

“You don’t get it.” 

“What is there to get? It is a nice hotel. Oui? We sleep here, we go outside. We enjoy ourselves. Find your frozen hot chocolate. Oui?” 

“It’s...it’s not. That’s not it. It’s…” John shakes his head. He brings his hands back up. Can’t seem to figure out what he wants to do with them in the first place. He’s going through phases. Up. Down. Up. Down. He’s a mess. 

A jittery mess that isn’t making any sense whatsoever. Because what does it matter if the hotel is pretty? The cost is just a number on a page. Why should Lafayette care about something like that? 

“When I was a kid, I had $1000 a month. That’s it. That covered rent, utilities, and food for a month.”

“For you and your father?” Lafayette clarifies. He knows John’s mother died when he was a child. He doesn’t think John has any siblings. At least none that John has mentioned. 

“For me.” 

That….doesn’t make sense. “I lived alone.” He’d mentioned that vaguely once before, but Lafayette’s still having trouble understanding. 

“Before high school?” he clarifies. 

“Since my mom died.” 

“You said she died when you were a child.”

“I was.” A pause. “A child,” John finishes. “Dad didn’t want me around. So. $1000 stipend. Found out after he took it outta my mom’s life insurance policy she set up for me.” John points to the suite. “This room costs more than what I used to live off of for  _ one month  _ per night. This two week stay? Is one  _ year  _ worth of expenses. It’s. It’s  _ too much.”  _

Lafayette’s mouth opens. He blinks rapidly. Trying to figure out what to say. How to respond. He’s not sure there is anything to say. Anything he can do to make things better. It is what it is. Time has passed. 

There is no turning back the clocks to make things happier. There is no giving John happy memories, because there are no happy memories to give him. There is only this. Whatever they are now. John, sitting on a bed in the Waldorf Astoria, anxious about money he doesn’t need to worry about. John, physically uncomfortable by the prospect that there’s anything more than what he currently has. 

“Everything has a price tag,” John mumbles. “Everything costs something.” 

Of course everything does. But that price tag has never mattered to Lafayette. And looking at the price had never been something he thought to do. 

“What’s your price for me to be here with you?” John asks nonsensically. “Because if it’s sex? I...I’m  _ not  _ going to be your prostitute.” 

“That’s not why I wanted to have sex with you John Laurens,” Lafayette snaps. Temper flaring. “Did it not occur to you that I simply wish to make you happy? That I want nothing in return but your happiness?” 

“The world doesn’t work like that,” John bites back. “You’re doing all of this for a reason,  _ why?”  _

“Because I love you, and want to see you smile.”


	64. Chapter 64

Lafayette orders room service. John sits on the bed.  _ The floor is lava. _ Leaving it seems like an unsurmountable task. Something that he’s not sure he has enough energy to manage at the moment. While Lafayette busies himself with wandering about the room, John tries to come with a plan for moving forward. 

This has started to become a thing. A thing they should probably talk about. Lafayette keeps upgrading the anté. He likes fucking John; he likes spending time with John; he cares about John; he loves John. 

_ First comes love...then comes marriage… _

Lafayette finishes his call and flops backwards on the bed. Sprawls out like a starfish for all of one minute before he jerks John down to curl up against his side. John’s tense. Tight and immobile. He’s already turned Lafayette down for sex, and if this keeps up...it’s going to be an excruciating two weeks. 

He thinks about getting a bus back to school. He’s pretty sure he can find a Trailways or something that can take up back to campus. Staying with Lafayette had been a bad idea. He doesn’t have an escape point. He doesn’t have a way to leave if he wants to. 

He should have planned ahead. Shouldn’t have spurned Alex. Alex wouldn’t have done this. Alex wouldn’t have gone for something like this. They could have gone back to their hometown. Maybe check in on the Stevens and see how they’re doing. It’s been awhile since John’s seen them. Maybe Ned’s back in town.

“It...had not occurred to me that you would be uncomfortable here…” Lafayette says stiffly. He’s staring up at the ceiling. John grimaces. He’s already ruined this. Already made things so much worse. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s supposed to be grateful. Supposed to be thrilled. He’s never been able to stay at a place like this before. Even the last time he was in New York, they stayed at a Holiday Inn. They’d slept in the same bed. His mother’s arms wrapped around him. Kissing his hair. 

_ Mijo...mijo hermoso…. _

“Why should you be sorry?” Lafayette asks. “There is no need to be sorry.” 

“I’m ruining our vacation…”

“It’s not ruined. Not yet.” Okay. Fine. But...John’s having a hard time seeing how it’s going to get better from here. “What can I do to help?” Lafayette asks. 

Not be here? That’s not an option. Especially considering how much money Lafayette’s already poured into this excursion. They’re here to stay. But even as John starts chewing his lip uncomfortably, he struggles to come up with an answer that is satisfactory. He doesn’t  _ know. _ Doesn’t know how they make any of this work. 

This lifestyle just isn’t  _ him.  _ It’s another reason he and his father never could click.  _ (“Some people are meant to clean the floors, Jack. And others to walk them.”)  _

“That’s a horrible phrase,” Lafayette tells John when he recites it slowly. Unconsciously. Not even aware the words had left his mouth until he felt Lafayette’s hand stop its absent minded stroking. 

“Is it?” John asks. Leaning his head up to look at his...boyfriend? Is that what they are? They  _ still  _ haven’t really confirmed the word. Even though it feels like they’ve been circling that drain for so long. And with Lafayette’s confession, it feels like the most natural word. 

If the rest of the world fell away, leaving only them in a field of nothingness, John could see himself being relaxed right now. Relaxed and sprawling. Curling close to Lafayette’s body. Somehow, despite everything, Lafayette’s still putting up with him. Though John’s not entirely sure why.  _ Love.  _ Well. Love doesn’t really exist. It’s just a word to describe a temporary sensation. “No matter how hard someone works, they never get to walk the floor. You know it’s never going to be me.” 

“Why do I know that?” 

“Because….you’re…. _ you. _ You’re you and you’re so much more than I’m me an—”

“—Because of money?” Lafayette asks. “Because my  _ parents  _ have a great deal of money and I do not think of it? Do not consider it?” 

“How can you live in a world where money don’t matter?” John asks weakly. “Where all of this,” he waves a hand around the room, “Doesn’t matter?” 

“Of all the things I cared about growing up, money had never been one of them. We always had it. We always will. I can no more separate myself from it than you can from your poverty.” John flinches. Goes to pull away. Lafayette sighs. Shifting to give him as much room as he may need. “It is a part of my upbringing that I do not recognize. I’m...sorry if it is bothersome to you.” 

“The only thing bothersome is.  _ Fuck.  _ Do you know what all this money could do for someone? What it means to someone?” 

“I am starting to understand what it does not mean to you,” Lafayette sighs. “I had...wanted to give you something nice.” 

“I  _ know _ that. I’m not stupid.” 

“I never said you were.” 

“Well good, because I’m not. I’m not. I just. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

He always messes up. Every time he opens his big mouth he messes up. He makes things worse. He breaks and destroys and ruins friendships. He tears everything down and can never build them back up again. 

Lafayette sighs, “You should always say something,  _ mon amour.  _ I...miscalculated. It is I who should apologize. I did not think.”

“Anyone else would have loved this place,” John mutters. 

It makes Lafayette laugh a little. A quiet chuckle that still holds the faintest traces of his accent on each breathy exhale. “But I do not want to be with anyone else,” Lafayette says. Batting his eyes. “I want to be with you. And it is _your_ feelings I should have taken into consideration. Not theirs. All I ask, _mon amour,_ is that you _teach_ me how to be your boyfriend. So I do not hurt you again.”


	65. Chapter 65

Room service arrives, and Lafayette pulls the tray over to the bed. Lays it out and passes silverware to John so he can pick at the food he’s pretending he’s not going to eat. John accepts the cutlery and the napkin with a polite ‘thank you.’ He even shifts them into position and spears an olive with his fork. 

“Perhaps we should start at boundaries?” Lafayette suggests breezily. He cuts a piece of steak off and starts chewing. The juice is nice and flavorful. The rub made sublime. He slides his next slice through the small puddle on the plate. Hoping to soak up any additional flavoring. 

Pierre had suggested they have this conversation a long time ago. He’d been shocked they hadn’t had it already.  _ (“If you’re going to be in any kind of physical relationship, you need to know where the other person’s lines in the sand lay.”) _

He knew many of John’s. Could guess most. But this...hadn’t been what he expected. And he needs to know the rest. Even if they never came up. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeats. 

“You don’t hurt me,” John replies softly. He’s lying. Eyes cast down and toward his food. Aside from the olive, he’s made no move to get anything else. Lafayette can hear his stomach growling from two feet away. 

“We are all hurt at some point or another, if at all possible, I would prefer not to continue hurting  _ you.”  _

“That’s more than most.” John wears bitterness well. Carries it about his shoulders like a cloak. Letting it drag his body to the floor. Obfuscate the truth that lies within. John is lost to his own illusions because of it. Not seeing his own reflection nearly as accurately as everyone else. He doesn’t understand himself. And Lafayette doubts he ever will. 

Too busy hating who he is to see any goodness that lies within. Too busy being mad at Alex to remember that Alex loved him. Had cared for him deeply. Had no idea what he’d done to hurt John so badly, and has tried to reconnect with John. Tried to set things right.

Lafayette has five text messages from today alone asking him if John’s eaten enough. If he’s slept enough. Is there anything that Lafayette notices that Alex could do better with. How’s John doing? Is he okay? Is he  _ really  _ though? 

Alex cares. 

Alex cared so much he made a mistake. 

“I do not wish to be held down,” Lafayette offers as a compromise. He’s experimented enough to know that he hates the feeling. Hates the idea that someone else is standing above him. Deciding where he goes and how he should move.

Hates feeling like he can’t break free. Hates the lack of trust that the sensation provides. He has no desire to be put in that position. 

“I do not...like bugs…” he continues, trying to think of non-sexual quirks he has. John glances his way. Hostility and misery giving way to an almost wry expression. 

His lips are doing their damndest not to smile, and Lafayette rolls his eyes. Waits for the inevitable, “You’re afraid of bugs?” 

No. He is not. He says as much too. “But I do not  _ appreciate  _ their presence.” 

“You’re  _ afraid _ of bugs,” John needles. Honestly. How he fell in love with a child Lafayette will never know. But he sighs and mumbles that John’s taking it entirely out of context, even while being extraordinarily grateful John’s joining the conversation. Rather than just sulking about his woes. “S’okay man, I can take care o’ that for ya.” 

_ “Fantastique.”  _

Cutting into his meal, he sectioned off a few pieces. Migrated them onto John’s plate. John snatched a few up. Chewing them slowly. Progress! Came in the form of four bites of steak. “Don’t like wastes of money...or...things that  _ feel  _ like wastes of money.” 

“Things that spoil  _ you  _ and not someone else?” Lafayette asks. Because that’s what it amounts to. John not feeling as though he deserves to have this kind of money spent on him. It gets him a tired sigh, and a nod. “Then I have purchased this room for me.” Simple as that. John scowls at him. “I am not spending the night in a cheap motel in New York City. You may be angry at me all you want, you may tell me what a waste I’m being. You may tell me how I have no moral compass. I am impervious. I have heard it before.” he reaches out and cups John’s cheek. Lets his thumb trace John’s lips. His fingers slide briefly into John’s hair. “But you will not feel guilty for this. Because  _ this decision  _ is my decision, and it is  _ my  _ arrogance that is to be blamed.” ‘

He’s not sure if he explained his position clearly enough. It’s not something he’s spent much time formulating. But if the problem lies with John accepting a high value present, than shifting the blame to anger at Lafayette versus self loathing seems far more acceptable. This isn’t a cash value exchange that John needs to start calculating just how badly he screwed up. This is Lafayette spoiling  _ himself _ and graciously dragging John for the ride. 

“I really don’t like rich people,” John reveals. “Snotty attitudes. Always spending money on frivolous shit. Never thinking ‘bout anythin’.” Lafayette shrugs. 

“Do you not like  _ me?”  _ he asks. And John huffs. Turns his head to bite at Lafayette’s thumb. Still pressing against the corner of John’s mouth. 

“I like you,” John reveals. “But…” he glances about the room. “You spend money on the most ridiculous things.” 

“I do.” 

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna give you shit for it.” 

“Okay.” 

“And...and I’m not gonna like it all the time.” 

“That’s fine.” 

John nods. Still visibly uncomfortable and uneasy. But for now. It’s a start. Lafayette kisses John’s temple, and then gives him another bite of steak. They’ll figure it out. One step at a time.


	66. Chapter 66

John can't sleep. The bed is more comfortable than anything he's ever laid in before. It's just the right level of soft yet firm. The pillows are like clouds. The blankets are warm. There's a heater quietly filling the room with warm air, keeping it from getting to hot or too cold. Balancing everything perfect.

Everything's perfect.

Even Lafayette, curled around him, is perfect. John's fingers twitch. He should do something. Anything. He doesn't quite know what. But he should do something. Get over himself. Make it right. There has to be something he can do.

While his earlier concerns about the room still haven't faded, he understands Lafayette's point. Can accept them, even. But he still can't go to sleep. It's too quiet here. And everything is foreign and unusual.

He licks his lips, tries not to wriggle too much. If he does, then Lafayette will wake up and he'll try to help. And John doesn't want Lafayette's help. Not right now. Not for something like this. It's his own head that's the problem. Any normal person would have no trouble going to sleep. Would flop onto this mattress and feel entirely at peace. Considering the price tag – a good night's sleep is the least that they could do.

But John's failing at even that, and he's having a hard time figuring out what to do next.

Fingers tapping unconsciously, John shifts a little to the left. A little to the right. Trying to snuggle deeper into the mattress to see if that would help. He freezes when Lafayette shifts. Wrapping an arm more securely around John's waist.  _ Stop moving,  _ John chides himself desperately. He shouldn't be moving this much. He's going to wake him up.

He's going to wake him up.

He's going to—

"You're worrying." Wake him up.

John sighs and rolls onto his back. He turns his head and blinks at Lafayette's face. He doesn't look tired. Doesn't look sleepy. Just looks resigned. As if he's come to expect this of John. As if John's insomnia is somehow part of their program. Their schedule.

Lafayette isn't impressed, because there's nothing impressive about this. This is just part of the routine, and John  _ hates  _ how natural this has become for them. Hates that he can't just be a  _ normal  _ person with  _ normal  _ sleep patterns.

"Stop worrying," Lafayette tells him. Because telling him to stop is just going to magically make it all better. Is just going to put all the pieces in place and make it all work out. Oh, he's been told to stop. Great. He'll just do that. He'll just close his eyes and the sleep will come naturally. As it always should. As it always would.

Lafayette raises a hand and strokes it down the side of John's face. "Would you like to put on the TV?" he asks. It's not unusual. John's sat up watching TV when he couldn't sleep before. Has even done it with Lafayette a time or two.

Lafayette will sit down beside him, pull John to his side, and they'll watch Animal Planet until the sun rises. Strangely, Lafayette stays awake the whole time. Will sometimes comment about this or that. Not complaining about how tired  _ he  _ is, even though John sees him yawning. Sees him rubbing at his eyes.

Someone else, someone  _ better,  _ wouldn't have had this problem. Wouldn't need to be catered to. And John's about to say something to that effect, when Lafayette sits up. Gets out of bed and walks around it, holding out his hand for John to take.

Together, they walk to the couch in the sitting area of the suite. Lafayette drags a blanket and pillow from the bed before they get there, and John winces. They've messed it up. They've made a mess. They've made things so much worse. And he shouldn't have said anything. Shouldn't have made a big deal out of this. It's not right. It's not fair. It's –

"Lapin?" John freezes. Lafayette's tilting his head at the couch, and he goes. Moves to sit down. Lets Lafayette wrap the blanket around his shoulders. He curls up next to John, pulling John close. Letting John lean his head against Lafayette's chest.

The TV hums as it’s turned on. Brightly colored lights filling the room. John's eyes burn badly as he stares at the screen. Physically sleepy even if his body won't take the final step forward. The blankets are warm and fluffy. Lafayette's body feels so nice against him. With each breath in, John's head rises and falls. A metronome pace set alongside the light drumming of Lafayette's heart beat.

It doesn't take long to find Animal Planet.  _ Tanked  _ is on. A marathon of some sort. It's not something that John usually prefers, but he doesn't mind it. He blinks slowly. Colors feeding through to his retinas. Lafayette's hand gently stroking a hand up and down John's arm in the meanwhile.

They don't talk. They don't say anything. And even though time keeps passing, when John looks up – Lafayette's still awake. Still watching the show. Still entirely present. "You don't have to stay up with me," John tells him quietly. Guilty. He's already ruined this vacation by throwing an uprising with their rooms.

And now he's ruining Lafayette's sleep. Again. Like he doesn't do this enough back home. "I want to," Lafayette tells him. It's a lie. No one could possibly  _ want  _ to stay up like this. No one could possibly find this entertaining in the least.

"Why?"

"Because it makes me feel better to know you're here...safe and content." John blinks at him. That doesn't really make much sense. He would know that before he went to sleep too. What would it matter to Lafayette if he just went under?

"Why?"

Lafayette's expression falters. He redirects his gaze to the TV. Whispering quietly, as if somehow embarrassed, Lafayette says, "You're not the only one who has trouble sleeping."

John stares. It's the first he's heard of it.


	67. Chapter 67

Dawn takes its time marching around the bend. But once the light starts shining through the window, Lafayette finds it far easier to keep his eyes open. John's been quiet for the past few hours. Watching  _ Tanked  _ with a kind of detached expression. He doesn't truly fall asleep, though every so often Lafayette noticed his eyes shutting for quick micro bursts that came and went far too fast for any kind of true rest.

Gently nudging John up, Lafayette extracts himself from the couch. Goes to the bathroom and conducts his morning routine. He leaves the door open. Listening for any sounds of distress. There aren't any. John doesn't even leave the couch.

That's fine. Better that way, really.

Pausing at the sink, Lafayette stares at himself in the mirror. Frowning at the color of his cheeks. The exhausted pull around his eyes. He shakes his head and splashes water on his face for good measure. Feeling as the individual droplets slip off his nose. His chin.

Stepping back, he presses a towel to his face. Dabbing at his skin until it's dry. He re-enters the room and gives John a slight nudge. John's dark eyes are still staring blankly at the television. Not quite ready to fully rise up for the day. "Come run with me?" Lafayette asks anyway.

He gets a quiet hum in response. A shift, then a nod. John pushes himself upright and shuffles across the room. Dressing in loose fitting clothes that are easy to move in. He keeps his head hunched. Eyes directed toward the floor.

He dresses with slow, lagging movements. Exhaustion pulling him down to the ground. "If your body is going to not sleep, it could at least not make you sleepy –  _ non?"  _ Lafayette asks. It earns him a faint smile. John's lips quirking as his head tilts toward him in acknowledgment.

Making his way back to Lafayette's side, he waits patiently for any sign or direction. Lafayette just scoops up his keys, wallet, and hotel card before heading at the door. The hotel is quiet. Not even the staff are up and about. The only sign of life appearing at the entranceway. They're greeted by a sleepy eyed doorman who yawns into his shoulder. A receptionist who wishes them well.

New York City is grey in the morning. Blue sky hidden by a off-white haze. It settles about the buildings. Lights reflecting here or there. Early risers are already up and at them. Walking the streets. Shuffling to work. Eager to find their next cup of coffee.

"Bryant Park is ten blocks away," Lafayette tells John lightly. "But Central Park is eleven." He leaves it at that. Lets John choose. Either option is fine. He doesn’t personally care one way or another.

"Central...?" John asks quietly, and Lafayette nods. Starts heading north on Park Avenue. They start off slow. Very slow. Walking the eleven blocks to the park is far more than they usually start with as a warm up. But it makes things easier. And it gives Lafayette time to explain the directions.

"Each block is a tenth of a mile, give or take," Lafayette explains. "So ten blocks is one mile." John nods. Doesn't have much to add. "Avenues run north and south, streets are east and west. And, when you are walking on an avenue the distance between the streets is far smaller than the distance between avenues."

"Why?"

Lafayette shrugs. "More space for the buildings to be built?" He doesn't really know the architectural history of New York. Some of it he's picked up by travelling. But mainly, what he knows is how to get from place to place. That's all he's really needed to know.

As time passes, more pedestrians start filling the street, and Lafayette's grateful they decided to go to the park. Jogging with rush hour traffic was never going to end well. When they actually enter the park, stopping only for Lafayette to point out the Plaza Hotel as only a true tourist should, the crowds are starting to get more pushy and insistent.

Cell phone conversations and early morning meetings taking place right there on the sidewalk.

Stopping to retie his shoes, John steps off to the side. Slowly bringing the laces around until they're settled and tied. He nods at Lafayette to show he's ready, and then they get going. Beginning a long and gentle pace through the many twists and turns of Central Park.

They pass a few runners and some bicyclists. Stay out of the bike lanes and just keep going. The Park hasn't changed much since Lafayette was a kid. He recognizes hills and rock formations. Remembers sitting on certain benches and taking pictures by the pond.

John keeps pace with him well enough. He's always been in good shape. And despite his recent troubles, he's managed to keep his muscles from deteriorating too much. Lafayette doesn't push it, though. He doesn't try to pick up the speed. This is a marathon, and he has no desire to make it so John can't compete.

They go for a loop around the pond. Stop to admire the view only briefly on Gapstow Bridge. By now, the sun's burnt through the early morning clouds. Blue skies with only a few fluffy clouds provide a bright contrast to the spring chartreuse and the grey skyscrapers.

"Do you like it,  _ mon amour?"  _ Lafayette asks when they finish their first lap. He's debating whether or not to go for a second. They still have the mile walk back to the hotel no matter what. Though if they're truly tired, there are no shortages of taxis that can ferry them home.

John nods. "S'nice."

Tilting his head in consideration, Lafayette leads John down a new path. "This way," he encourages. Following him, John falls into place. Jogging light on his feet.

They're not far from their destination, and when they arrive, John's started to laugh. The Central Park Zoo. Doors open at ten.


	68. Chapter 68

Lafayette pays for the tickets to the Zoo, and they go in together. On the right, there are signs for Polar Bears, and John follows them immediately. They loop around a small grassy patch, pausing briefly to look at a tank full of seals. They'll get back to those later. John makes a mental note of it.

But for now.

_Polar bears._

John's never seen one in real life. Let alone _two._ He presses his hands against the bronze railing, and leans close to the windows. Head nearly touching the Plexiglas as he stares at the magnificent creatures. He recognizes that Lafayette's behind him. But he doesn't pay him any mind. There are _polar bears_ to be watched.

"Tell me about _ours polaire_ ," Lafayette asks. John licks his lips.

There's an old cartoon that he used to watch with Alex when nothing else was on. Spongebob had been told to forget everything else in the world except how to be a perfect fry cook. And he did. He forgets everything, and only becomes the master fry cook. Then, when a restaranteur comes to make his final assessment, he declares the food to be the greatest food he's ever tasted. He asks Spongebob what his name is, because he must know this fry cook's name. He must.

The scene fades into an internal hellscape. Hundreds of Spongebobs rush around Spongebob's head, opening up filing cabinets and sorting desperately for an answer. Any answer. What's his name, what's his name, what's his name?

Little hands plucking out folders and tossing them, desperate for approval. For satisfaction.

John can almost see that now. _Tell me about ours polaire._ Little Johns in his brain rushing for an answer. Sorting through all the chaos and mess left behind after nineteen years of bullshit had accumulated in its stead.

He finds the file next in the _oh, I like this,_ section. And he spews.

"Polar bears in the wild can live up to twenty-five years of age, ranging between 650 and 1400 pounds depending on gender and food resources. They have four inches of fat under their skin which prevents them from losing any heat. Like – when they're looked at with an infrared camera they're invisible because they don't give off any heat at _all._

"They're not even _white._ Their skin is actually black, which is good for retaining heat. And their _fur_ is actually made up of hollow reflective follicles that reflect all the light so _they look_ white. Not only that, but their fur is also really oily and water repellant so they don't retain any water or ice after they get done swimming."

Casting a glance toward Lafayette, John's actually surprised to find that his _boyfriend_ seems interested. He's nodding his head. Looking at the bears. Even shifting. One hand resting on John's hip as he leans around him. Close to the glass. One of the bears moseys about. Drifts closer to the water. Then sort of...slides into it. Nose first. Back feet pushing his body into the water like an oil slick.

"There's a better view over there," Lafayette says, motioning with his chin toward a set of stairs.

They descend then ascend two different sets. Scurrying about a corner to go back around and look up top. From here, they peer down at the bears. Dog paddling about in the water. Seemingly perfectly content to ignore their adoring fans and just continue shimmying about.

Bears roam for hundreds of miles. Finding food and returning back to their cubs. It's odd, seeing them in such a closed environment. So different from the _Planet Earth_ documentaries and the NatGeo pieces.

John licks his lips and leans a bit further on the railing. Trying to see where food could be brought into the area. He's not sure what these places would be called. Enclosure might not be the right word. It's small. Not... _tiny..._ per se... but not big. Not like a polar bear _should_ have.

Still standing quietly at his side, Lafayette seems content to wait for John to come up with something else. And John flushes darkly when he realizes how quiet he's been. "You don't have to apologize," Lafayette tells him sincerely. "I am interested." He waves his hand. "Tell me," he offers. So John does.

Explaining territory. The range. The different food types. Social lives. Breeding and migratory patterns. He even explains that _one scene_ from _Planet Earth_ where the polar bear dies of starvation because it can't get enough food and the walruses are too much for it.

"Walrus?" Lafayette asks. John mimes it with his hands.

"Big tusks? Um. Massive? Brown? Like. Slugs with whiskers and blubber an—"

"—ah! _Morse?_ " John shrugs.

"I...guess?" Lafayette pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping at it. He flips it around and shows it to John.

There's a picture of a walrus there. And John nods. "Yes, yes! Walrus!"

"Morse," Lafayette repeats. John tries the word out. Sounding the vowels and consonants as slowly as he can. "Good, good!"

"It's not that impressive..." John mumbles awkwardly. And it wasn't. It's not like he'd whipped out all of the Illiad in perfect French. Saying _morse_ hardly seemed to register on a list of things that could be considered impressive.

Lafayette didn't seem to think that was the case. Grinning and holding out his hand in excitement for John to take. Seemingly enjoying their strange trip into foreign languages, Lafayette pointed at every animal in the zoo. First he gave the French word, then John gave then English. They'd repeat it back and forth.

Traveling from the polar bears to the red pandas, to the birds, lizards and seals. Looping back to sections they liked a lot. Stopping to watch the seal show when it started. There's a large store and education center, and Lafayette willfully pulls them inside.

John's eyes immediately zoom in on a large stuffed baby seal. He licks his lips. Knows, Alex would love that.


	69. Chapter 69

John's been staring at the toys for nearly two full minutes. Not a long period of time, certainly. In retrospect. But in the constant bustle of their day so far, any pause, regardless how momentary, feels like an eternity. Lafayette follows his gaze to the large fluffy white one. Big blue eyes and whiskers. Considering all the animals they'd seen today, Lafayette's surprised _that's_ what exactly's caught John's eye.

He even mentions it. There are bears here. And birds. Lizards. Books. John likes books. Likes to read them and put himself in between the pages so he doesn't need to interact with anyone else in reality. Lafayette's seen him do that with studying more often than not.

Keeping his grades up had been more of an after-thought than anything else. A side-effect of the rampant reading John did do. _"I didn't have money to do anything else,"_ he'd said one night when he couldn't sleep. _"Just read my school books cover to cover. Over and over again. It's not like I had anything else to do..."_

He'd gone on to say that Alex actually liked reading. That reading and Alex went hand in hand. Along with writing. Where Alex could finish a book or assignment in a matter of hours, it took John weeks to absorb each chapter. Each concept. And he'd need to re-read them in order to remember any of it.

But he enjoyed having books. Kept the books with him. Even had one in his bag at the hotel. Lafayette had seen it when they were dressing this morning. His biology textbook. Carefully placed annotation post-its filling the first two-thirds.

John hadn't even glanced at the books. No matter how interesting they looked. No matter how fascinating he would have found them. Instead, he had eyes for the baby seal.

"Shall I buy it for you, _mon amour?"_ Lafayette asks lightly. Looping his arms around John's body. It's the closest they've stood all day. No denying their relationship now. John's lips thin and he glances furtively about them. No one's looking their way, and after a moment—he settles.

Leans back into Lafayette before shaking his head. "It's...Alex. Alex would like it."

Ah.

"Shall I buy it for _ma petite Alex_ then? Hmm?" John's lips twist. Left then right. Like he's sucking on a sour candy and doesn't know what to make of the taste.

"Do whatever you want, he's your friend," John says at long last. It's not the answer that Lafayette's expecting. Nor one that he's going to let slide. As John starts to turn to leave the seals alone, Lafayette snatches his wrist and holds him in place.

"Alex is _your_ friend too, Lapin," Lafayette tells him firmly. John winces. He doesn't argue the point either. Just stays still. Waits for Lafayette to get his say in, and then will likely ignore everything said in the process. Or worse yet, will agree with Lafayette if only to make him stop. "He is your best friend," Lafayette reminds slowly. It gets him a nod of approval, and a weary slump of the shoulders. "You need to speak with him."

"Okay," John agrees.

" _Mon Dieu,_ John Laurens, your Alex made a terrible mistake. One that has cost you your relationship with your father, and one that has left you uncertain in regards to Martha." Lafayette needs to squeeze hard on John's wrist to keep him from flinching back. Pulling away. Even so, he gets a wounded expression in return. Wide eyes all but pleading for Lafayette to drop this portion of the conversation. To say nothing more. To avoid it entirely. "Do you not wish to make amends with Alex? Truly? Do you not wish to be friends with him once more? To play games? To lay side by side as friends do?"

"He never wanted to be my _friend,_ " John argues. "He just wanted to...to..."

"You cannot even finish that statement. You know it is not true. Alex is a fool. An _imbecile_ who speaks far too fast. Who does not understand what it is he is saying. Who often cares little for consequences. But he has been _your_ friend through all of this. _Non?_ He has done all he has done because of his care for you?"

"Why should that matter? Why should I let him get a free pass because he _cares?_ Why should I always have to accept it every time somebody does something wrong? Why should I get hurt just because _they_ wanted something from me that I didn't want to give? Why do I always have to say yes every _God damned_ time?"

The stares that John had been oh-so-concerned about receiving, have started. Shoppers looking their way. Frowning. Trying to avoid eye contact. Muttering to themselves. John's shoulders are shaking a little. His hands are curling into fists. Despite not sleeping the night before, not eating anything yet this morning, and already going for a four mile run – John's got energy to spare. It's building up with each passing second, and Lafayette wishes he had a clever word to say. An excuse he could offer John. A soothing balm.

"I can't go back," John tells Lafayette tightly. "I can't see my father. My siblings. I can't do anything. I had to _fight_ to get him to sign the FAFSA. And what happens if he doesn't sign next year? When I don’t have money for school? When I can't get a loan because I don't have a co-signer? When I have no way to pay any of it back?"

There's no easy answer to that. There's nothing Lafayette can say to make this right. "I could use my mother's life insurance policy," John says. "But it's gonna run out eventually. It wasn't meant for me to live off of since I was _nine_ trying to pay my God damned bills. And it turns out _college is fucking expensive._ So tell me _Laf,_ why exactly should I forgive him?"


	70. Chapter 70

They walk back to the hotel in silence. Another great day _ruined_ by the miraculous talent of John Laurens. John's seething by the time they make it inside. Stomps past the doorman and the receptionist. Ignores the startled looks of the other guests. Just goes to the elevator. Hits the up arrow, and glares.

Lafayette settles next to him. Hands in his pockets. He's been quiet since John blew up at the store. Though he hasn't appeared to have any interest in sulking. He smiles at John. Nods his head. Follows him. Even rocks back and forth on his heels as they wait for the elevator. If he's judging John, he's doing a remarkable job of hiding that fact.

It's infuriating.

Barely making it to their room before he explodes, John kicks his backpack as hard as he can once he gets inside. The door clicks shut and John's already looking for the next thing to tear apart.

Everything in this _fucking_ room is so pretty and expensive. Every single thing is worth more than John makes in a year. Everything is so dainty and neat and—

Lafayette's moving furniture. He's leaning down and pushing couches to the side and shoving tables against the wall. It's ruining whatever masterful feng shui bull shit this place has going, and John stares at him. Watches as the stupid throw rugs are shoved to the side. Watches as the fine china and cutlery are moved out of arms reach.

When he turns around, he kicks off his shoes and he grins at John. "Come here _mon petit lapin,"_ and John _moves._

Throwing himself at Lafayette. One punch. Two. The bruises they received on the car ride over are nothing. This is nothing. John punches and kicks, and Lafayette blocks and parries. They trade blows. Back and forth and back and forth.

John's blood is on _fire._ His body is shaking. His heart is stampeding in his chest. "He was my _best friend!"_ John growls out. Words thrown at the same speed as his punches. He lands one right above Lafayette's heart. Receives a stinging blow against his side just as quick.

"He is," Lafayette affirms. John shakes his head and plows forward. Ducking low to wrap his arms around Lafayette's body and shove him to the ground.

He's not sure what Lafayette does, but the move is reversed. John still on the ground, but this time _he's_ pinned. This time _he's_ trapped and broken. Unable to move. Incapable of getting up. He thrashes. _Fuck this hard. I do not want to be here. I do not want to be here. Fuck this._

Throwing his arm back, he manages to strike Lafayette brutally in the side. Hears his boyfriend grunt. Turning over on his side and coughing. It gives John the chance to wriggle free. Turn the tides.

Hit. Hit. Hit. Lafayette keeps his arms up. Even on the ground. Blocking the blows and huffing his breath out. A kick lands. Throws John to the side. He hadn't been expecting it. "You know, Lapin, I do believe you have gotten good at this," Lafayette says. He lays out on his back. Arms at his side. Black hair frizzing out badly against the carpet. John draws his knees up and rubs at his chest. Heart still thundering within him.

But the pause has provided perspective, and _what the hell are they doing?_ "We're going to get thrown out," John mutters.

"Eh, then we will find somewhere else, non?" Lafayette sits up. Smiling. There's blood on his teeth. John split his lip. Or gum. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's oblivious to it. "You are allowed to have feelings, John Laurens."

"Why do you do that?" he asks in response. Lafayette tilts his head. Not understanding. "My name. My full name. Why do you say it like that?"

"It's a beautiful name for a beautiful boy."

John's not sure why he expected an honest answer. He rolls his eyes. Draws his knees to his chest. Sighs heavily. Everything hurts. Everything's awful.

But his heart's starting to calm down a little. The need to destroy all that he sees has lessened to a dull roar.  "You do not need to forgive Alex," Lafayette tells him. "Just as you do not need to forgive Martha."

"You keep saying her name."

"I read the Harry Potter books, you know. I saw the movies too." John scowls at the non-sequitor. One had nothing to do with the other. "By calling Voldemort He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, by not speaking of him, fear only grew."

"I'm not afraid of Martha Manning."

"No, you feel guilty. And you should not. She made her choices on her own, and must come to terms with those choices on her own." Lafayette rolls onto his knees and crawls toward John. Slips in close. Leaning forward to touch their brows together.

John closes his eyes. He's heard some of this before. Not exactly like this. But enough. "Been speaking to Pierre about me?"

Lafayette laughs. Nuzzles his cheek against John so soft and sweet. Demanding affection like a cat. John has no desire to push Lafayette away. Doesn't think twice about nuzzling back. Even if it feels ridiculous. Immature. Stupid. He reaches out and hugs Lafayette. Accepts the warmth and stability Lafayette provides when he shifts and wraps his arms around John's body more firmly.

"Martha hurt you because she didn't understand you. Didn't know what you wanted or who you were." It's the truth, and it's as succinct as Lafayette could be on the topic. "Alex hurt you because he cared too much. You do not need to forgive him. But you should decide if you want him to be in your life. Because if not...then the next time you see a seal – you should not wish to get it for him. You should be prepared to let him go. And truly do, let him go."

Lafayette's right. It's just.

John doesn't know what to do.


	71. Chapter 71

John manages to fall asleep at around two am that night. Lafayette lays in bed beside him, one arm wrapped around John’s shoulders, staring at the ceiling. He’s tired. He knows that. But. The few times he tried closing his eyes, his arm jerked round John. His head started racing in circles. 

What happens if John needs him? If he leaves the room? If he goes somewhere? Lafayette will have no way of finding him in New York. Not that he’d been very successful the last time. It’d been  _ luck  _ that found John that night. Luck and nothing else. 

Lafayette doesn’t think that he’s going to be that lucky again. He pulls John closer. Counts John’s breaths as his heart beats steadily against Lafayette’s side. John’s fine. 

He  _ knows _ that John is fine. He’s perfectly content with the fact that John is fine. 

But what if he’s not? Their argument earlier had been mostly resolved. And John’s basically at a good spot right now, all things considered. Trying to come to terms with what’s running around his head. Trying to accept the changes his life has brought thus far. He’s doing well with it. Lafayette thinks. He’s managing. 

He’s adapting. 

He’s making decisions. And he’s accepting that Lafayette isn’t going to push him into an answer. Isn’t going to force an issue. It’s working, Lafayette thinks. It’s working. 

But it still doesn’t stop the faint panic that comes whenever Lafayette thinks he’s missed something. And it certainly doesn’t stop the fact that even though John’s managed to get some rest.  _ He  _ hasn’t slept a wink. 

Reaching out, he fumbles for his cellphone. Holds it up to his face and squints at the light there. He settles in for finding their next activity for the morning. Starts searching for John’s café. He just wants to make this right. Make this good. He’s so fucking tired of messing up. Messing  _ John _ up. Hurting John when it’s not what he wants. 

He doesn’t want this. 

Lafayette’s vision blurs. He tilts his head toward John’s. Presses his nose to John’s curls. It’s going to be okay. They’ll figure it out...they’ll…

It’s…

 

Lafayette opens his eyes. There’s light pouring in from the window and John is  _ gone.  _

Sitting upright, he throws himself out of bed. Sheets and bedding tangle around his legs. He crashes to the carpet. His hands scramble. His breath is locked down. He kicks rapidly at the blankets trying to get free. Trying to get out. 

He needs to — his phone. He needs his phone. He’s got to call someone. 

Who’s he going to call? There’s no one here. There’s no one—

“Laf?” His head whips about. John’s standing at the entrance to the bedroom. By the little dividing doors that separate the sitting area and sleeping area in their suite. He’s dressed for the day. Curls pulled back in a ponytail. He’s showered. Looks rested. He’s fine. 

He’s fine. 

He’s  _ fine.  _ “Don’t you fucking do that again,” Lafayette spits out. “Don’t you just  _ leave _ . How can you leave like that? You were supposed to stay right there!”

John blinks at him. Mouth opening slightly. “I have no idea what you just said,” he finally settles on. Lafayette blinks. “I don’t speak French.” Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

Language. 

Language. 

Damn it all. 

Lafayette presses a hand to his face. Breathes in and out slowly.  It’s probably a good thing John  _ hadn’t  _ understood, all things considered. Because the moment Lafayette finished speaking, was the moment he realized how  _ bad  _ John would take that. They’re trying to get John to make choices on his own, and telling John he can’t leave the bed is rather counter productive. 

“You okay?” John asks slowly. Lafayette nods. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine. He’s. He’s  _ perfectly fine.  _ John’s here. And he’s not getting hurt somewhere. He’s not in trouble. He’s not damaged. He’s in one piece. And that’s exactly what he wanted. 

But he can’t get the words out. Is horrified to discover that he’s actually  _ crying _ now. When he pulls his hand away from his face, it’s coated in a thick watery sheen. And his heart hasn’t stopped beating on overdrive. And his head is hurting. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t part of anything. He’s supposed to be here to keep John happy. To help him out. To make him feel better. But all he’s done is ruin it. Ruin it like everything else he’s ruined. 

John walks toward him slowly and reaches out a hand. Places it on Lafayette’s arm. “Laf…?” he murmurs. 

Lafayette rubs at his eyes. “Bad dream,” he excuses quietly. Staring at a point over John’s head. Listless and exhausted. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we can go,  _ oui?”  _

“Go?” John repeats. 

“Yes...I...I had something planned. Something you’d like. I think.” He doesn’t know anymore. Doesn’t know anything. Maybe he overstepped again.  _ Merde _ . He really hopes he hasn’t.

Fingers slide down his arm. Encircle his wrist. “Hey,” John says quietly. “Don’t lie to me,” he requests. And that’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. Lafayette didn’t lie. And he doesn’t intend to. He just. He just. 

“I thought you had gone,” he reveals. John’s eyes widened. Lips parting. Lafayette can’t maintain eye contact right now. Can only lean forward. Kiss John’s forehead. “I’m...going to take a shower,” he reiterates.  Heart pounding in his chest. Ribs compressing as he leaves. Stripping off his clothes and flicking on the spray. 

There’s a quiet pause, and then feet shuffle closer to the bathroom. “Mind if I stay here and chat?” John asks. Some of the pressure leaves his body. Some of the panic starts to recede. 

_ (“Conversation goes two ways,” Pierre said. “If you want him to talk to you? Maybe start telling him what’s going on in  _ your  _ head as well.”) _

Lafayette turns around. John’s waiting just a few feet away. Chin up in challenge. “Not at all, mon amour,” he says calmly. So John stays.


	72. Chapter 72

Lafayette tells John to bring his fencing bag, so he does. He throws it over his shoulder and follows Lafayette out into the city once more. The walk downstairs goes by quick. Hotel fading out to the background. He’s too busy staring at the back of Lafayette’s head to notice what’s going on around them. 

They’re holding hands. Have been since they left the room. Lafayette’s fingers tight around John’s palm. They walk slowly and steadily. Moving as evenly as they can onto the street. The cab is hailed and they slide inside. Folding their bags on their laps. Lafayette still doesn’t let go, even as he gives the cabbie the address. 

A little bit of paranoia seems to have crept in around the edges of Lafayette’s psyche. Not much. Nothing that is too extreme. But enough that Lafayette is openly agitated. Worried. He’s been like this since he woke up from whatever nightmare he’d had, and John has no idea what to say to him. No idea how to make it better. 

The cab turns sharply around a corner, and John’s fingers lock down hard around Lafayette’s palm. His breath catching. His boyfriend glances his way. Finally turning to him. Addressing him. “You’ll be all right,” Lafayette tells him. And John wonders if the words are a prayer for  _ his  _ sake or for Lafayette’s own. 

He squeezes his palm back anyway. Lets the upperclassman get his way. For now. But if John’s not allowed to keep shit from Lafayette, then he best not be thinking he can get away with keeping shit from John. Not if they’re going to make any of this work. 

After half an hour of sliding this way and that, sitting in traffic and managing strange turns, the cab  _ finally _ stops in front of a comparatively short building. Lafayette pushes open his door, pays the cabbie, and waits as John shimmies his way out to his side of the car. Stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting his hold on his bag. He squints up at the signs. 

_ Sheridan Fencing Academy _ .

Lafayette places a hand on the small of John’s back. “This way.” He leads him inside. 

Everything is so well maintained it  _ shines.  _ Fencers and fencing equipment are scattered everywhere. Mats are strewn out on the floor. Score cards. Posters. There are instructors leading classes. Kids fidgeting with their masks. Adults pulling on their clothes. 

John’s eyes feel like they’ve grown three sizes. The skin above and below them straining to accept the new pressure. Flags hang from the wall in the back. There are mirrors. Wires that connect the fencers to computers. 

“Can I help you?” a young woman asks, approaching them with a clipboard in hand. She’s got light pants and white shoes on. A blue polo shirt built for durability. 

“We have an appointment with Monsieur de Rufec,” Lafayette replies. She glances between the two of them curiously for a moment, before nodding and motioning toward the side. 

“Please wait here, I’ll get him for you.” She turned on her heel and scurried across a training hall to find whoever it was that Lafayette was looking for. 

John lets his bag fall off his shoulder as he looks around. Staring at the pictures and the testimonials that are scattered around the place. The sound of swords clicking together keeps drawing his ear, though. And soon he finds he cannot stop staring unabashedly at the students practicing. 

The girl returns in short order, a tall man with a severe expression following after her. John’s spine straightens unconsciously, and he glances awkwardly toward Lafayette. Still, the stranger approaches with confidence. Holding out his hand. “You must be Gilbert?” the man asks, french accent strong. Lafayette’s first name disappearing in a slurring group of letters John’s still trying to piece together.  _ Jill-bear? No. That’s not quite right.  _

Lafayette shakes the man’s hand, oblivious to John’s dilemma, and smiles. “ _ Oui, _ and you must be Charles?” at the man’s nod, Lafayette turns to John. “This is John Laurens, he’s who I called about.” 

“You called about me?” John asks stupidly. Biting his lip as Charles turns toward him. He rubs his thumbs over his fingers, not sure if he’s supposed to shake Charles’ hands or not. 

“I had...thought that you would enjoy fencing lessons from someone who is quite the expert in the field.” Lafayette’s accent seems to have grown thicker just by spending a few seconds with the man. It’s a garbled mess, and John needs to actually squint and stare at him in order to even puzzle out what he said. 

“Gilbert tells me you have just started?” Charles asks. And John nods awkwardly. Flicking his eyes toward the other fencers in the studio. He’s not sure what he should be saying here. How he should be behaving. “Good, go change, then you will show me what you know.  _ Oui?”  _

_ “Oui,”  _ John nods again. Charles steps back and heads up the stairs to the practice floor. Leaving John to turn to Lafayette. 

His boyfriend is already bending down to pick up John’s bag. Passing it over with a smile. It’s awkward and uncertain, but hopeful. “Did I do good?” 

It’s quite possibly the sweetest most innocent question John’s heard Lafayette ever ask. Their hands slide together. Fingers intertwine. John steps close, and he wraps his free arm around Lafayette’s body. Presses his head against Lafayette’s chest. “Yes,” John tells him. “You did good.” 

The sigh of relief blows past John’s hear. The body he holds, sags against him. Lafayette squeezes John tight. And it’s quick and simple. A slide of the lips. An short peck. “Go, ” Lafayette encourages. Their hands slide free. John takes up his bag and hurries to get dressed. 

Hurries to fall into line. To learn all he can. 

To fall in love with fencing just one more time. Lafayette doesn’t join him. Instead, he sits on a chair not far away. 

Lafayette did good. He did  _ so  _ good. It’s perfect.


	73. Chapter 73

Charles is a three time Olympian. John doesn’t need to know that. Not right now. Just like he doesn’t need to know how much the private lessons cost. He just needs to keep practicing with that eager energy that Lafayette can see from all the way across the room. Just needs to keep looking relaxed and at ease. 

That would be enough. 

Lafayette watched as closely as he could. Frowns only a little when Charles tells John to try using a sabre instead of a epee. Doesn’t say anything in complaint. Doesn’t even try to explain it away. If John prefers sabre, then let him use sabre. Lafayette’s fine with it. 

He’s fine. 

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out. Blinks at the small text reading Pierre’s name. Quietly stepping away from the practice floor, Lafayette exits the building. Stands on the street and answers the call. 

_ “Gil?”  _ Lafayette freezes. It’s not Pierre. It’s his mother. His mother on Pierre’s phone.  _ Knowing  _ he’d pick up the call. Knowing that he’d answer it if it was Pierre. That’s how they always worked. 

_ “Maman.”  _ Lafayette presses a hand to his face. He’s too tired for this. He’s not strong enough for this right now. The fight has bled out of him. His veins have been slashed open. He’s bleeding on the floor. He doesn’t have the strength to argue or to mitigate the manipulations. 

He’s so tired of all of this. 

_ “...Pierre...encouraged me to call. He said that...you may need my help?” _ Pierre should keep his Goddamn mouth shut if he thinks Lafayette’s ever going to forgive him for this subterfuge. He’s a traitor. A bastard. A whoreson  _ loser  _ who— _ “That you have a friend who may need some help?”  _

Who had been addicted to drugs and found a home with a Lafayette once upon a time. 

Lafayette rubs at his eyes more aggressively. They aren’t clearing up. Aren’t focusing. He’s so tired. He just wants to go to sleep. But he can’t—he checks to see if John’s still inside, breathes a sigh of relief at the confirmation—there’s too much he needs to do. 

_ “His name is John,” _ Lafayette tells his mother. He wraps one arm around his body. 

He’s doing the best he can. But  _ it’s all your fault  _ keeps running through his head on repeat, and he’s struggling to block it out. To keep positive. To find the right path. 

Twisting his head, he peers up through the glass and just can make out John inside. Still practice with Charles. Everything’s fine. He’s in New York with John, and John’s fine. He caught a cab early. John seems happy with his lessons.  Everything’s  _ fine.  _

_ “Gil?” _

Except...he’s not fine. He’s not fine at all.  _ “I’m going to hurt him, Maman,”  _ Lafayette says softly. He leans against the brick wall of the building. Tries to breathe in and out slowly. Tries to stave off the feeling that’s only growing. There are tears pressing at his eyes.  _ “I can’t do this anymore.” _

_ “Do what, Gil?”  _ He doesn’t want to have this conversation with her. Never knows what to say. She’s always had the answer to everything, but that doesn’t mean that she’s always  _ been  _ there. Doesn’t mean that she’s always had time to call him up to chat. Bothered to be involved longer than a few minutes here or there. Stayed after the dust settled.  _ “Gil?”  _

_ “How can you  _ use _ Pierre like that?”  _ he asks briskly. Because that’s easier. The anger is easier. Even though Hercules had just sighed and shaken his head about it, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because being angry is better than being sad. 

At least anger gets something done. 

All being sad has gotten him is John looking miserable more often than not. He’s so tired of making the wrong choices over and over again. _ “I’ve never  _ used _ Pierre,” _ Maman tells him. She keeps her words short and professional. Polite. There’s a wall between them. A thick wall that’s never going to be healed.  _ “We helped him because we loved him, love him. He chooses to stay with us because we love him. He makes us better than we are. He certainly was a better parent to you all these years than we ever were.”  _

Lafayette doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never heard his mother admit defeat. Admit that she hadn’t been anything less than stellar. It’s a bittersweet vindication that makes his fingers tighten around his phone. This is not the mindset that he wants to have this conversation in. He’s exhausted, worn down, and every few seconds he’s glancing inside. 

_ “Pierre can leave any time he wants to, has done so in the past. I would not force him to stay.”  _ Lafayette has no memory of Pierre leaving. Can’t recall a single moment in his life where Pierre hadn’t been there. Always ready and willing to help. Never far from sight.  _ “Pierre told us about your John...said he found the stories similar…” _

_ “I didn’t know.”  _ It hurts to admit that. Hurts to say he doesn’t know anything around his mother. She’s always expected the world from him, and he’s always tried to give it. Always tried to provide it. She is never satisfied. 

Though now she seems to be trying her best at the moment to remain civil.  _ “He was no longer an addict, there was hardly a reason to tell you.”  _

_ “He says once you’re an addict you’re always an addict.”  _

_ “It helps him to think like that, I do not agree. He’s not used in twenty-four years. Would you call him that?”  _ No. But he’s not in that world. He’s never experienced what John’s going through. How can he put words in someone else’s mouth if he doesn’t know what their life is like? What if he gets it wrong? What if he offends someone? 

Offends John?

Hurts someone he cares about because he’s being ignorant? He’s so tired of hurting the person he loves.


	74. Chapter 74

Lafayette’s being weird. After the fencing lesson, which was  _ awesome,  _ Lafayette just...drifted. One hand wrapped around John’s palm. They head back to the hotel, and John takes a shower. Washes his hair and gets the sweat off him before returning to the main room. Lafayette’s sitting up not far away. Eyes half closed, hands hanging loosely in his lap. 

“Laf…?” John asks quietly. Lafayette looks up. Mouth pressed in a thin line. There seems to be some vague attempt at smiling. Some half-hearted effort that slides away. Skin slipping down. A worn out rubber band. Stretched too thin and sliding back to position as best it can. 

There are dark smudges under Lafayette’s eyes. Puffy flesh making him squint. He lifts a hand to rub at them again, and John bites his lip. “You...you wanna get some rest?” he asks quietly. 

“No...no it’s fine. It’s fine. I think I found your cafe,” Lafayette tells him. He fumbles for his cell phone. Pulls it out and taps against the screen. Whatever he tapped didn’t input correctly, because he huffs. Sighs loudly and then starts over. Tries again. Again. Each attempt getting him more agitated. He slams his thumbs against the screen, shaking the phone in open frustration. 

Stepping forward, John reaches for the device. Unlocks it for him, then hands it back. His boyfriend blinks owlishly at it. Like he’s not sure what he wanted to do with it to begin with. “Lay down with me?” John asks. Lafayette raises his eyes. “Please? I want to be held.” It’s a little manipulative, but it gets Lafayette to agree. 

He stands and follows John to their too fancy bed. He crawls in under the covers and opens his arms. John shuffles close and tucks his head against Lafayette’s side. “Are you okay?” John asks softly. 

Minutes pass. Lafayette’s fingers trail up and down John’s arm. His eyes look up at the ceiling. John watches him. Holds him close. Doesn’t want to let him go. Doesn’t know how to fix this. With Alex, anything that involves sex will probably fix most moods. He’s easy. (Well, easy to figure out at least). 

But John’s never really seen Lafayette like this. Doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say. He feels like a ship at sea without a compass. Without a wheel. With nothing but the wind guiding him one way or another. 

He hopes he’s heading in the right direction. 

“You had fun today?” Lafayette asks quietly. John nods. Skin of his cheek rubbing against the cloth of Lafayette’s shirt. Wrinkling it. Tugging it up and down. He had fun today. “I’m so glad…” 

“What’s wrong?” John asks. 

“You had a good day...it’s...there’s no point in...I’m fine.” 

Right. Because that’s very convincing. John scowls and nudges Lafayette’s arm. Side. Sits up a little so he can lean over Lafayette’s body. His wet hair falls in his face. Providing a curtain that blocks out all light. Narrowing the space between them. Contrasting their bodies and hiding them from the world. Like kids under a blanket fort. Sharing secrets in the dark. 

“Tell me the truth?” John asks. “You listen to me…” 

“Because you need me to listen to you. How does telling you help you? It will only make things worse…” That’s wrong. Very wrong. 

“I’m not a child that needs to be protected.” 

“I am not suggesting that I never tell you what is on my mind,” Lafayette sighs. He reaches up. Tears down the fort. Pushes John’s hair out of his face. Back behind his ears. He trails through the damp curls. Slides his fingers through them. 

His fingers feel nice. 

“But telling you now...instead of when you’re more ready to hear...I do not want to keep hurting you.” 

So it’s something that could  _ hurt  _ John. His heart starts pounding in his chest. He tongue flicks out. Wets his lips. He smacks them. Closes his eyes and tries not to imagine the plethora of things that could hurt him. Tries not to find the worst case scenario. Tries not to get fixated on those images rather than reality. 

Lafayette’s fingers pause. He curses miserably, drops his hand to the side. Arm rubbing against John’s leg as it descends. “Please stop,” he requests of John. And John doesn’t know how to stop the intrusive thoughts. Doesn’t know how to block them out or no longer think of them. Can only feel the sharp sting of their presence. Can only feel the broken result of their volume. Persuasive and restrictive. 

It’s hard to not keep falling down this rabbit hole.  _ Lapin.  _ How fitting. He’s here and he’s here to stay. A long spiral of misery and guilt that he keeps propelling himself down. Is it really  _ falling  _ if he runs after it headlong? 

“I didn’t wake up when you left,” Lafayette tells John suddenly. He meets Lafayette’s eyes. Manages to hold the contact for a few moments before skittering his gaze away. Finding something else to look at. Something he can bore into as he processes the information. “I didn’t wake up...I just...got a phone call telling me you were gone. And I...I should have woken up.” Lafayette presses a hand to his face and rubs it down. “I should have woken up.” 

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” John tells him. “I would have found a way.”

Lafayette sighs. “That’s not the point,  _ mon amour.”  _ John’s not sure what the point is. “I didn’t wake up. I told you I wouldn’t come for you. I...I thought when I found you you’d be dead. And I…” he closes his eyes. Squeezes them tight. 

He hasn’t been sleeping. 

“I’m sorry…” John bites his lip. “I don’t know what to do.” 

He’s not a shrink. He’s got no idea how to fix this. Lafayette just smiles. “Don’t worry Lapin. I’ll be fine.” 

But his smile is brittle. His eyes are tired. And John’s lost.


	75. Chapter 75

Lafayette is  _ not  _ fine. He didn’t sleep at the hotel, and nothing John said made him relax. 

By the time dinner came around, John was trying everything he could think of, but Lafayette couldn’t give him what he wanted. It left him feeling more worn out than ever before. But. He made reservations, and he’s not going to squander them. Not going to let this go to waste. Today’s meant to be a happy day, so he’s going to make it a happy day Goddamn it. 

_ Serendipity 3  _ is an almost non-consequential café tucked into a side street, half hidden by city planted trees, and easily dismissed as a strange kitschy outlet. There are black painted windows that open out to toys of some sort. And when they step through the door, the general toy like appeal of the place doesn't quite disappear.

Lafayette glances at John, nervous beyond measure that he's gotten this place wrong, but despite the concern from the hotel, John's eyes have widened drastically.  _ Smiling  _ brightly. His hand even slips into Lafayette's and he drags him toward the lady waiting to seat them.

The building, two floors, is  _ packed.  _ It's damn near claustrophobic, and its gaudy atmosphere doesn't help. Lafayette had felt foolish calling for a reservation at a  _ café,  _ but now he's glad he did. They're seated ahead of a giant line, and it gives him time to absorb just  _ what on earth  _ he walked into.

There are chandeliers hanging too low from the ceiling. There are white chairs with arched backs that clash badly with the tables and décor. There are stairs that don't look exactly safe, leading to a second floor that appears even more chaotic than the first. And the first had a strange candy store thing going on that Lafayette couldn't understand whatsoever.

The clientele consisted of women, and lots of them. Lafayette’s surprised by it. Especially Grandma Otis who keeps giving him the stinkeye. But John remains oblivious. Already disappearing behind his massive menu. There's not even much  _ on  _ it. But the font is so strange and there are weird pictures, and it's the size of a football field. Lafayette's vaguely certain he's going to need a megaphone to talk over the crowd and ask John what he's interested in.

He scans down to the dessert section in hopes of finding the frozen hot chocolate that John had been imagining, and is gratified to see that it's still there. Nestled in the bottom right corner under frozen drinks. Great. He points it out to John even as he's turning the sports stadium over. Hoping to see if there was something actually edible.

There's even more chaos on the back, including a massive typo. "Look," he hails over the field. John's head just pops up. Curls bouncing about and making the girl behind him swoon. "A typo." He taps the number on the page. "Think they meant  _ ten  _ dollars. Not, you know. One thousand."

"No that's right." John disappears back behind his football field.

Lafayette glances down at the dessert.  _ Golden Opulence Sundae.  _ "My English may not be so good," he says quietly.

"Your English is fine, it's really a thousand dollars." John settles his stadium to the side. "It's a sundae made out of pure gold."

"That's excessive." And it sounds  _ awful _ .

John's nods his head. "When me and my ma were here we were talkin' 'bout buying it? Just to piss off dad?" He grins down at the table. "It was fun to joke about at least."

"You want it?"

"A thousand dollar ice cream? That probably tastes like shit? No thanks. You even know what's in that thing?" Lafayette shrugs. John makes a waving motion with his hand in the vague direction of Lafayette's pocket. He passes John his phone. Letting him play with it for a moment. When he hands it back, he's pulled up a Wikipedia article. Lafayette scans it through. Still trying to come to terms with the fact that this was apparently a real thing.

He may not care much for money, but the very fact that someone would even  _ want  _ any of this is astounding. There's a mix of sweets and sours in the dessert that just wouldn't go well together. And perhaps some people like gold covered almonds and dragnets but Lafayette truly cannot see the appeal. "Maman would buy the whole restaurant this," he decrees. Flicking his eyes up to see if John will get self-conscious about the money again. Instead, John just laughs. Snorting pig-like as he covers his mouth with his hand.

He does that sometimes. Hide his smile. Cover it up as if he can smother his happiness into submission. Force his body to play miserable even when he's not. "I'm not joking," Lafayette insists.

It gets him another grunting chuckle. A shake of the head. The girls behind John are whispering amongst themselves. One is licking her lips obscenely. "Someone'd stop her right?" John asks, curiously.

"Pierre most likely. He carries her cards when they are out." He'd probably negotiate with her. Give everyone a free dessert of reasonable value rather than $1000 per person. Besides. "It says you need to call in advance."

"Bet they don't get a lot of orders in."

A pretty girl with smoky eyes and a thick Bronx accent approaches the table. "Good evenin' ma name's Nina and I'm your server today, anything I can get ya to start?"

John nods. "Frozen hot chocolate? Two?" he asks hopefully. Nina nods. Smiling bright and big.

"It's a good day for it," she tells them secretively. John's nodding and Lafayette can't keep his eyes off him. The light's shadowing John's freckles  _ just  _ right. John's hair's running about in perfect spirals around his face. Tied back in a way that speaks to the natural elegance of John's movements. His grace.

"Anything for you sweetheart?" Nina asks Lafayette. He just shakes his head.

"No...no I think I'm good." John's smiling. It's all he ever wanted.


	76. Chapter 76

John's always had a hard time talking about his mother. It's felt too personal. Too secluded. For years, he's wanted to keep his mother to himself. Someone that's only for him. Someone that's never going to be tarnished by reality. He likes to think that his mother really would have been proud of how he turned out.

And...all things considered, he doesn't think he's doing that bad. Now at least. A few months ago maybe he would have said something different. But as for right now, sitting here in _this_ cafe, waiting for their food to arrive (a chili hamburger for him and an "A la Garden of Allah" for Lafayette) John feels temptation rising.

"When mi madre and I were here? We sat at that table right there," he points to the small white table where a couple of hipsters are taking pictures of their meals. Lafayette turns and looks. Tilts his head for a few moments, as though supplanting an image onto itself. Swapping out the hipsters for John and his mother. Nearly a decade younger. And so much more alive than they'd ever been. "We shared one of these," John continues. He nudges his drink.

It's _chocolaty._  Every bite is a sinful combination of delicacy and joy. It's so rich and flavorful that he's already halfway through his, even though Lafayette's been portioning his own to last the full length of their meal. Every so often John'll get an actual flake of chocolate that hadn't quite mixed properly. He'll hold it on his tongue until it melts, swallowing it on his next sip of his drink.

"We thought about running away here. Staying in New York and never leaving."

"How far'd you get?" Lafayette asks curiously.

"Pretty far. Checked out a few apartments. Just window shopping ya know? Nothin' special. But it was nice. Fun. We played pretend. _'Imagine life as a New Yorker, Juan.'_ Used ta do that a lot, really."

The name slips out without conscious thought. But when he realizes he said it, Lafayette hasn't responded yet. John's almost satisfied that it slipped by unnoticed. Nina comes back and drops off their food. Smiling and excited. Saying, "I'm so jealous, that's so good," as she settles the chili burger in front of John. His mouth's already salivating as he looks at it.

As always, Lafayette looks far more controlled. Thanking Nina, before collecting his knife and fork. "Do you prefer 'Juan'?" Lafayette asks just as John picks up his burger. It's an innocent question. But John shakes his head.

"Ma called me that...I don't...just her, ya know?" His boyfriend nods. Cuts into his chicken. Smells it first, like it's poisoned and he can _tell._ John rolls his eyes and grins at his burger. Taking a big bite out of it. It's _sinful._ It's so unbelievably _sinful._ "You—really—should try this," John tells Lafayette in between bites.

(Push out the past. Ignore what’s wrong. Make this good. Make it right.)

Lafayette's nose is crinkling. Lips struggling to not sneer. Managing his drink with grace and dignity, but struggling to accept John’s chili burger as an actual participant on the food pyramid. He's still busy cutting up his chicken into tiny little pieces. Sectioning it off to the side so it's not touching the cucumbers or other vegetables.

"Mixing's the best part," John whines.

"I prefer my food to actually taste like the ingredient it is," Lafayette sniffs.

" _Bebé_." He reaches for his frozen hot chocolate again. Slurps it loudly through his straw.

"I am, shockingly, familiar enough with Spanish to know what that means," Lafayette tells him. He pokes his fork at John. Tines down.

Lafayette's so weird with his eating. Fork upside down. Knife held just so. He takes tiny little bites. Is disgusted by the proportions at restaurants. John's already halfway through his burger, and Lafayette is still moving food about his plate. John'd think he didn't like it if he didn't know this was how Lafayette _always_ was.

He even arranges grapes on a plate a very specific way.

 _"Es verdad,"_ John tells him. Grinning. Lafayette rattles off a string of French John can't possibly furrow out, and so he bites into his burger with a bit more relish. He even starts dabbing his fries in the chili juice. "My dad didn't like us talkin' Spanish to each other," he tells Lafayette suddenly. Mouth seemingly moving on its own accord. "Not even Spanglish. Though I was good at _that_. Used ta always switch up my words wrong."

"That tends to happen when you raise someone bi-lingual."

"Wasn't too good at speakin' Spanish proper by the time I got older. Ma died, and... Dad's dad. So, I taught myself? I mess it up a lot. Don't have a good vocabulary. Sometimes I feel like I sound like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot John Laurens." Lafayette bites into his chicken at long last. He peers down his nose at his empty fork. As though he can't quite believe actual food came off it. John's lips twitch. He's trying really hard not to laugh. But Lafayette swallows slowly and then proceeds to collect another bite of chicken _equally_ slow. "It's...not bad," he grudgingly admits.

"You gonna try your drink before it melts papi?"

"First I was your _bambino_ , now I'm your _papi_ , you're in a mood aren't you?" Lafayette asks. John just grins.

"Yeah. I'm in a mood. I'm in a real good mood. 'Cause my sugar daddy boyfriend just got me a training session with an _Olympian_ and brought me back here for _this._ "

There's no logic to his mood. No clear cut point he can wrap his mind around. Just a memory of sitting in this cafe and being happy. Because this cafe meant happiness and delight.

John can’t fix what happened. But right now...right now if he can keep this going, he’ll do it. If this teasing helps?

Then damn it; he's going to help.


	77. Chapter 77

It helps.

 _Zut._ It _helps._ John keeps up his running commentary. He keeps teasing and flirting. Keeps sliding his hand toward Lafayette. Keeps stealing food off Lafayette's plate and shoving French fries back. It's not... _out_ of character for John. But it's clearly more than he's done in a while. More positive. More excessive.

He's trying. He's trying _hard._

Playing pretend. Just like he'd done with his mother. The world's going to hell right now, and nothing's going right, and John's still sitting there. Eating his burger and drinking his ridiculous drink. _Let's imagine a better future_.

It helps.

Lafayette lets him do it. Lets him push. Lets him keep going. The conversation is light. The interactions pleasant. John flirts, Lafayette reciprocates. Tit for tat. Again and again.

The girls behind John leave the restaurant, giggling and casting glances over their shoulders. He never noticed. Never let his eyes stray. Never smiled or encouraged their behavior. Lafayette is the focus of his attention, and it's _so nice_ to being someone's number one.

After dessert, Lafayette pays the bill. They walk from the restaurant/café/general store/whatever and head toward Park Avenue. The hotel was only a fifteen minute walk away. Perfectly placed considering the fact that they didn’t plan this.

John’s smiling ear to ear. He’s rambling. Telling stories. About the last time he was in the city. Reminiscing about his mother. It’s like a floodgate let loose. And it’s also a good one. It’s a cleansing wash.

The stories are lovely. John smiles as he says them. This half smile with dreamy eyes. When they get back to the hotel, John finishes his tale. He pulls out a picture from his backpack. Hands it to Lafayette almost shyly.

John’s mother is truly gorgeous. So much like her son. Dark skin. Brown oval eyes. Her curly hair spirals around her face. The boy in her arms in unequivocally her son. Her gorgeous son. Gorgeous and flawless. And the happiness the photo exudes is tangible.

“I’ve only ever shown Alex this…” John tells Lafayette quietly. Lifting a hand and pressing his knuckles against his lips unconsciously.

“It’s a wonderful photo,” he replies. He hands it back to John. Watches as John gingerly accepts it. Smiles at the image. “I have a photo scanner at home. We can put it in digital so you don’t have to worry about losing it.”

John’s eyes widen. He clutches the photo to his heart. Nodding quickly. “Please?” Anything. Anything for him.

John sets the photo to the side. Carefully settling it into his bag once more. Then he steps forward. Presses his body against Lafayette’s. Closes his eyes as he tilts his head up. Kissing Lafayette slowly. Gently. “You are not my prostitute,” Lafayette is compelled to confirm. Just so it’s clear. “And...I am _not_ your sugar daddy.” Despite the joke in the cafe.

Smiling against his lip, John pulls back. “I know...I know that...and I...I’m working through it. Okay?”

Okay.

John leans in again, and this time Lafayette has no trouble kissing him back. Enjoys the warm press of John’s body against his. The slow undulations that build with greater intensity. John’s mouth is a balm. Soothing all wounds. “I’m not leaving,” John tells him.

The words strike him through the heart. They pin him to the wall. They hold him in place.

John uses his lips as a seal. Finalizing his vow. Retaining it for the record. “I’m not gonna leave again,” John swears.

Lafayette’s hands lift. They hold onto John’s hips. They grind him forward. Slotting their hips together. Holding them firmly in place. _Mine,_ Lafayette thinks as John shows his devotion. _Mine._ He thinks as John gasps against his ear. _Mine,_ Lafayette thinks as he threads a hand through John’s perfect hair and pulls his head back.

He sinks his teeth into John’s throat. Biting hard at the junction. Joan moans obscenely. His hips rock faster. Desperate. Needy. He whines, even. A shattering cry, desperate for pleasure. _Mine._

_Mine._

_Mine._

Maman had told him to trust John. To trust that John wants him too. To accept that John will make the choices he makes, and that those choices are not his fault. Give him the dignity of his choice.

Whatever that choice may be.

If John wants to leave — John will leave. Lafayette can’t fear it. He can only accept it.

_Easier fucking said than—_

“Mine,” he growls against John’s face. Sending the words straight to John’s ear. “Tell me.”

“Yours. _Yours._ ”

Lafayette nods curtly. Reaches down and pulls John’s body upright. Hoists him into the air. John’s legs wrap around his waist. His arms loop around Lafayette’s shoulders. He grins against Lafayette’s hair. Mouths along the arch of his brow.

Lafayette walks. Carries his boy to the bed. Brings him forward. One step after another. Bracing John in place. Squeezing him tight. He reaches the bed and he collapses. Arms and legs bracketing John’s body. A body that writhes and twists beneath him. “Tell me to stop,” Lafayette breathes.

Because if he doesn’t, Lafayette’s going to keep going. He’s going to keep biting John’s throat. Leaving bruises down John’s chest. He’s going to ravage this boy and he’s going to make him sing. He’s going to feel John thrash and fight beneath his body and he’s going to relish every second of it.

John’s going to be a mess when he’s done. He’s going to be breathless and weak. He’s going to be sore tomorrow when they go back down to Charles to fence. He’s going to feel Lafayette with every step he takes.

“Tell me to stop,” Lafayette commands.

John instead, says: “No.” Lafayette pulls back. He meets John’s eyes. He memorizes the breathless quality to John’s face. John says “No.” And then he says, “I want this.”

No hesitation. No concern. No fear. Nothing.

John’s made his choice. And John’s _content_ with that choice.

Lafayette nods. “As you wish.”

John’s smile is electric.


	78. Chapter 78

They lay curled around each other. The city still rumbling, despite the lateness of the hour. John’s on his side. Lafayette’s arms wrapped around him. One under John’s head, the other scooping about his body to pull him tight against Lafayette’s chest. John’s tired. He knows he can go to sleep so easily right now. 

But he stays up. Listens to Lafayette breathing. Memorizes how Lafayette’s skin and muscle twitch. “You’re still awake,” he whispers softly. 

Considering how overwhelmingly exhausted Lafayette is, it’s not a good thing. Lafayette may have even considered feigning sleep, before John rolled about and looked at him. Saw him yawning and shaking his head. Covering his mouth and rubbing at his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Lapin.” Lafayette tells him softly. 

He’s not fine. He’s feeling guilty for something John did, and he’s not sleeping as a result of it. It’s been weeks since John relapsed too. And now that he’s had some time to think back on it...he honestly can’t say that he remembers  _ seeing  _ Lafayette sleep in a while. Logically, Lafayette must have caught cat naps here or there. But...John hadn’t noticed him even doing that.

It’s an uncomfortable notion. 

“As someone who has a history of not sleeping,” John starts, “You’re not fine.” 

The comment earns John a tight smile. Lafayette nods his head sagely, and shifts a little. “I’ll sleep now,” he lies. The lie is obvious. There’s a thin trail of panic hiding behind Lafayette’s eyes. He doesn’t  _ know  _ if he’ll sleep now. Doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to get rest. 

John, however,  _ knows  _ that  _ feeling.  _ He knows what it’s like to think you can conquer your anxiety and just pass out because that’s the best that you can do. “Wouldn’t have started taking drugs if it were  _ that  _ easy,” John mutters. 

Glancing about the room, he wracks his brain to see what he can do. There has to be something. Something that subconsciously will help Lafayette through this. If John’s the reason that this started, he can damn well find the solution. 

He’s almost ready to give up when he spies a scarf on Lafayette’s bag. It’d been cold enough to need one at college, but the city’s a little warmer and so it’d stayed inside while they went about their business. Smooth fabric that’s probably more expensive than anything John would ever buy for himself, it’s long and wide. “Tie me down,” John offers softly. 

Lafayette’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Turning to look back at him, the answer still feels obvious. John repeats, “Tie me down.” He gets out of bed and collects the scarf. Starts looping one end about his wrist. Wrapping it so it’s secure. He approaches Lafayette for the knotting, and Lafayette takes the scarf with a kind of dumbfounded expression John’s not used to seeing on his face. “You’re scared I’ll leave in the middle of the night right? Keep me here.” 

A pink tongue poke out. Just barely visible in the gloom of the room. But it’s there. Resting against Lafayette’s bottom lip. His eyes are wide. His attention locked in. He likes the idea. In more ways than one apparently.

“I do not wish to make you feel trapped.” 

“Will you let me out if I ask you to?” John asks, rubbing at where the soft fabric encircles his wrist. It’s smooth. Firm. Held tight. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and warm. 

“Of course,” Lafayette assures. 

“Then I trust you.” He does. He doesn’t know when it happened exactly, but he trusts Lafayette more than he’s ever trusted anyone in his life. More than his parents, Martha, and most recently— Alex. “I...love you,” John fumbles only a little. Lafayette’s breath hitching.  _ Say it again, John.  _ “I love you, and I trust you. Let’s do this.” 

Lafayette nods. He lightly pulls the scarf a little, leading John forward. Unraveling the scarf so he can start again, Lafayette kisses John’s wrist before he ties. He looks at John the whole while. Confirming and waiting for approval each step of the way. 

John’s head is surprisingly empty as Lafayette ties the final loop. Stays empty as Lafayette takes the scarf’s other end and starts tying it about his own wrist. John makes a noise in the back of his throat, but eventually steps forward. Eases the burden of attempting to tie it with one hand. Finishes the job sufficiently. 

This part wasn’t what he had in mind, but it’s nice. Nice knowing that they’re together. Connected. That if something happens had someone needs to get out— the other will know immediately. Will be able to respond. Will be able to help. 

Laying back in bed, John curls around Lafayette’s body. Follows the trail of the scarf from his wrist to Lafayette’s. They’re so close together. There isn’t much distance to separate them. It’s security for more than just Lafayette, though. 

Suddenly, John’s perfectly aware that even if he had a phone, he couldn’t sneak out of bed to torture himself with voicemails. Couldn’t get himself into trouble because he’s here. He’s here and he’s with Lafayette, and Lafayette won’t let the bad things in. Won’t let his mind run in endless loops until he drives himself insane with the need to respond. 

He’s safe. 

He’s safe. And Lafayette’s here. And he doesn’t need to think about anything. Lafayette’s hand trails through his hair. Each stroke pulling a little on the scarf. That’s fine. It feels almost nice. Rhythmic. John closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply. 

Breathes out deeply. 

It’s been far too long since he felt this level of instantaneous peace. “Should’ve done this a long time ago…” John mumbles dreamily. 

Lafayette hums. He sounds even more gone than John did. “S’good idea….” John nestles in close. Nuzzling and needy. Lafayette holds him even tighter. And between one breath and the next, Lafayette’s body finally relaxes. Finally become loose and limby. 

John’s asleep not long afterwards. 

They both sleep through the night.


	79. Chapter 79

Lafayette wakes to John curled up against his body. Breathing deeply. Still sleeping. Their wrists are still bound. The heat from their closeness nearly burning. It’s _perfect._ He closes his eyes again. Tries not to make a sound of complete and utter delight. The light is beaming through the window brightly and it’s clearly past their normal morning wake up call.

And yet. Lafayette can’t bring himself to care.

He feels like he actually slept. Feels like some of the edge from the night before has left him. And while he’s still endlessly tired, he knows that he’s gotten somewhere at least. Knows that he’s far more able to get up and go than he’d been the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.

Lafayette takes his time appreciating this view. John’s face slack and calm. His pretty freckles melting into his skin. He breathes in deep. Lets it out. Even tilts his nose so it’s pressing against Lafayette’s pit. Their wrists are still tied.

And Lafayette has no intention of untying it. Not until John’s awake.

It doesn’t take too much longer. John’s never been a particularly _deep_ sleeper. And they both tend to wake up early as it is. But as John opens his eyes, Lafayette can honestly say that he’s going to miss the quiet tenderness of his love. Sleeping so trustingly and safe against Lafayette’s body. “Hey,” John mumbles. Squinting at Lafayette even as he snuggles in closer.

“Hey,” Lafayette greets back. He trails through John’s curls. Finds a snag and carefully threads his fingers through. Untangling knots until each pass is smooth.

“Whatcha wanna do today?” John asks tiredly. Lafayette’s got an idea. But it’s going to take an awful lot of walking around, and he’s not sure where to go really. They’ll probably need to do an internet search of some sort. Not that he’s entirely sure what key words he needs in order to find what he wanted anyway.

He lifts his wrist though. Pulls along the thread of the scarf that’s holding them close. John’s eyes follow the movement. His lip pull up. “S’nice…” he intones. Voice barely legible he’s slurring it so much.

“Shall I get you something more...permanent?” Lafayette asks as casually as he can manage. Licking his lips. Breath slowing...

“What, like handcuffs?” The idea is not without its own appeal. Handcuffs are hard to get out of. And there’s a certain level of dominance that goes along with it. A certain level of control that Lafayette likes the sound of all ready.

But that’s not what Lafayette had in mind. Not even what he’d been fantasizing of. Handcuffs have their own uses and place, and he’s certain they’ll eventually play with them at some point or another. But this isn’t _playing._ This isn’t a fight of dominance or a sexual give and take.

It’s faith. And comfort. Security. It’s an affirmation. And handcuffs seem far too impersonal for something like this. Far too...violent. He wants John soft and sleepy. Dreamy in his arms. Not struggling. Skin bruising and chafing from harsh metal.

Not now at least.

“Leather,” Lafayette says instead. He trails his hand toward John’s wrist. Slowly starts undoing the knot. Letting the fabric slip free. Circling his fingers about the limb, he traces a line. Two inches long. “You could wear it as you please. And at night…”

“You could tie me to you?” John asks. His eyes close and he nuzzles closer. “Slep’ nice. S’nice.”

“Is that a yes then, _petit lapin?”_

“Yes….Jill-bear?”

“ _Zhil-bare,_ ” Lafayette corrects. John repeats it. Twice more before Lafayette kisses his crown and tells him well done.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Fumbling a little before his clumsy fingers take hold. He rotates the device about and starts tapping. Trying to figure out where they should go to buy the cuffs. There is no shortage of specialty shops for _sex,_ but what Lafayette’s imagining needs to be tasteful. Something John can wear in public without fear of someone spotting it and forming a...undesirable opinion.

His initial search pulls up Matara Custom Leather. There’s an Etsy store available, and Lafayette tilts the phone toward John. Enjoys the feeling of John shifting about and getting more comfortable against his body. He presses a kiss to John’s brow. Can’t help it really.

John flicks a finger across the screen. Scanning each picture critically. He pauses for a moment at one marked “Custom Brown hand tooled leather cuff bracelet Cowboy Western style.” It’s a coffin shaped band that wraps into itself. Held down with a buckle. A thin strap circles the main part of the cuff. Carefully etched indentations and metal conchos accent the center. It’s tasteful. Elegant.

And made to order in Brooklyn. It seems like an online based store only, but Lafayette has no intention of letting that stop him. He taps on the screen some more and starts delving into the magical world of New York City shopping. Someone somewhere must know something. It’s the universal truth of New York.

There’s always someone.

John sighs against him and closes his eyes. “Wanna sleep more,” John mumbles. Lafayette gives him another light kiss, and reties the scarf. Just to be fresh. It makes John smile though. Makes him snuggle his head closer to Lafayette’s shoulder as he continues working. “Love you…” he whispers.

Lafayette whispers it back just as a text message comes on. It’s a quiet vibrate that doesn’t disturb John’s dozing. If anything, it just makes him snuggle closer. Eager to shy away from the noise. It’s from Pierre. _How’re things?_

The answer comes to mind almost immediately. And Lafayette shifts his phone about so he can take a picture. John’s sleepy head just visible. Face half hidden by curls. It’s a nice picture. Something sweet yet also esoteric. Lafayette loves it already.

He hits send, then adds a caption.

_Things are great._

He’s so happy it’s true.


	80. Chapter 80

They get ice-cream and wander about Bryant Park. Unfortunately for them, it's still cold. Probably a bit too cold for ice cream, but at this point John's certain they're just doing things because they can. They're playing tourists, and it's fun. Licking his way around his mint chocolate chip, John lets his eyes wander to the various rocks and trees around the park. Following the landscape and its clashing presence with the city around it.

The wrist brace that Lafayette had purchased for him rests comfortably in place. Every so often he lets his hand run against the smooth leather. Stroke its sides and trace the subtle stitching.

If Lafayette catches him doing it, he'll grin suggestively. Waggle his brows. Scoop in and wrap his arms around him. Squeeze his wrist a little. Press kisses to the side of his face. It's all about contact. Constant contact that John's growing more and more fond of with each passing second.

It's an addiction in its own right. And he knows he's only supplanting one method of calming down with another. Lafayette's not a drug. But he is a crutch. He is a method to block out the chaos that constantly swirls in and out of John's brain. He is the one thing John's started turning to whenever anything goes wrong.

And maybe that's right. Maybe this is what being in a relationship feels like.

But John's seen relationships. Seen how they end. They always end with anger and betrayal. And John's not eager to see his own relationship go down that path. Especially when he doesn't know what he'll do without Lafayette. It seems wrong to push anything on Madison. And Alex...

Alex would be there for him in a heartbeat. If he hasn't ruined what little relationship they have left. Alex would be there, and he'd help. And John knows that. Knows that as one knows how to breathe. Alex was his best friend. And...John really misses Alex.

"You're thinking again," Lafayette teases him. Leaning over to lick John's cone. John tilts it out of the way.

"You have your own,"

"Yours is nice too," Lafayette shrugs. He halts John's movement with a firm grip. Forces John's hand over so he can get a taste. Then releases. "Want mine?" The chocolate swirl is offered proudly, and John rolls his eyes. Accepts at least one taste.

The combination is excellent.

"I was thinking about Alex," John admits quietly.

There have been moments, many moments, since they left, where all John wants to do is call Alex. Tell him about his break. Send him a picture. Get a picture sent back. Get Alex a seal. Push away the hell that's been their relationship for ages, and bring them back to someplace almost normal.

Someplace where Martha and his father no longer exist in triplicate. Instead, they're ghosts that can no longer bother him. Exorcised and banished to purgatory. John's not stupid. He knows there's not going to be an easy way to handle any of this. Knows without a doubt that he's going to be fighting demons for a long time yet.

But this silence? This break? Has been good. It's giving him beer muscles. Giving him the impression that he can succeed. He can do well. He can manage. He just needs to redirect his attention to something else. Right now...that's been working for him.

He'll see how he's doing later.

"What about Alex?" Lafayette asks delicately.

"What to say to him." Because it can't happen again. If he's going to forgive Alex...if he's going to go through this stress and drama and trauma one more time, this can't happen again. Alex can't fly off the handle and ruin something for John. No matter his personal feelings on the matter. He can't do it.

He can't do something because it's what he wants. He has to accept that John's feelings are more important sometimes. That he has a right to chose what he wants.

Even if it's not in their best interest. It's still John's choice.

He's allowed to have a choice.

Lafayette waits patiently as John gets his thoughts together.  Doesn't try to push for additional information.  Doesn't try to interfere.  Instead, he finishes his ice-cream. Looks about the park, and lets John come to terms with his own problems.  "He's my best friend," John admits quietly.  Lafayette nods.  He doesn't deny it.  Doesn't try to influence John's decision one way or another.  He's a sounding board.  There to listen.  There to help in any way he can.  But he's not going to make John's decision for him.  Has never tried.

If there is one thing that John's grateful for, it's that Lafayette's never tried. Even his ultimatum had been John's choice.  His consequence to face if he didn't straighten up and fly right.  He's never dictated John's future and forced John to fall into line.

He just listens.

It's nice to be listened to.

"I miss him," John murmurs. "More than I miss my dad or Martha in any case."

His father had been the white whale all John's life.  Literally and figuratively.  The one person that John always wanted to impress but never could.  The one he longed to gain the approval of.

But it's not going to happen.

For years, all John's known has been how miserable he was whenever his father was there.  Each slight and problem magnified tenfold.  Alex cut off any chance at happiness he could have had with his father.  But there hadn't been much chance to begin with.  Not if he didn't want what happened with Martha to ever happen again.

"He shouldn't have said anything," John reiterates. Because at the end of the day, that had been John's choice to make. "But...I don't want to lose him too."

"So don't."

John nods. "Before we leave...there's someplace that I need to go."

He's going to set this right. But there's something he needs to pick up first.


	81. Chapter 81

The bruises on Lafayette’s arm have  _ just  _ started to fade when they get back in his car. And while Lafayette’s busy attempting to navigate the streets of New York and get them back on the highway, John lands four rapid hits in fast succession. Lafayette casts him disappointed looks. Wounded that John would take advantage so blatantly. 

But John’s impervious. Grinning wide and scanning about for his next excuse. “When we get back to the house…” Lafayette trails off. John’s grin only grows. 

“You gonna show me what’s what? Gonna make it all right?” Leaning forward in his seat, John presses his lips against Lafayette’s cheek. “C’mon...tell me whatchu gonna do.” 

A blue buggie rounds the bend in the distance, and Lafayette gleefully sends a solid hit against John’s side. It winds him, and he settles back into his seat. Whining about how unfair it is.  _ Brat.  _

The rest of their break had gone by fast. Too fast really. They always went for a morning run, usually carrying them to whatever destination they felt like exploring that day. Three days in a row were dedicated to various museums. They stopped by the Intrepid and the Bodies exhibit. John had delighted over the anatomy representations. Had eagerly brought up strange facts he’d learned in his Anatomy and Physiology class. 

His delight had only been comparable, there, to the sheer joy he’d had at the Natural History Museum. The giant blue whale replica had been massive, and even Lafayette had to admit the premise of the museum was cool. Endless exhibits showing flawless models of animals, dinosaur bones, reconstructions. Scaled so you can see just how massive some of these creatures were. 

And even as the museums seemed to take up their time, they always ensured that John could continue his lessons at  _ Sheridan.  _ Stopping at  _ Serendipity 3  _ for dinner each night. 

The whole trip cost a small fortune. One that Lafayette loosely kept track of. Every time he reached another round number expense, he couldn’t help but think back to John’s analogy.  _ This was his rent. This was his food for the month. This was his heating bill _ . The thought was...uncomforting. Disquieting. Particularly considering how young John had been when he’d started budgeting. 

Lafayette admittedly had started adapting a habit of not showing John how much anything cost. And John, likewise, kept his head turned the other way. Forcefully occupying himself until they could move past it. 

Steering the car onto the highway, Lafayette fully expects their game of punch buggie go pick up with a vengeance. Instead, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he pulls it out. Tossing it to John. “Who is it?” he asks as John flips the phone around. 

John takes his time in answering. Phone still vibrating in his hand. But eventually he says “Alex, do you mind if I…?” Lafayette shakes his head. Turns down the music they’d had running. Pointedly tries not to interfere at all as John answers. “Hey Alex.”

It’s strange, Lafayette thinks. Listening to only one side of the conversation. He can vaguely make out tone of voice. Sometimes he can hear full words, but overall he can’t follow Alex’s side of the narrative. He thinks Alex sounds apologetic. Perhaps even desperate. 

And out of the corner of his eye, he can see John start to slump a bit in his seat. Guilt’s a powerful thing. Even if John had good reasons to take a break from his friend, now that he’s made the decision to forgive him, the guilt for taking so long has started to grow. 

Lafayette reaches out a hand over the console. Slides it along John’s arm. Down so it settles palm up. Waiting if John wants him. 

He does. 

He shifts the phone to his other ear. Threads the fingers of his left hand through Lafayette’s. Seeking comfort and receiving it at the same time. Lafayette squeezes. John squeezes back. It’s like a pulse being passed around. From person to person. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

“We went down to New York City,” John tells his friend. Lafayette catches the beginning of a smile on John’s face. The lightness of his step. The eagerness to share. He nods his head at whatever Alex is saying. Starts telling him about the things they did. 

The things they  _ saw _ . 

With each passing second, John’s enthusiasm starts to grow. His body is perking up. Occasionally he’ll even glance at Lafayette.  _ See? It’s working! I’m doing good!  _ And he is. He’s doing wonderfully. 

He tells Alex about what it was like training with an Olympian. Tells him the things he learned about Fencing. Admits, with a little  _ too  _ much glee considering how much Lafayette despises sabre, that he’s probably going to change from epee to sabre completely now. 

Alex must ask for the difference, because John starts delving into it. Explaining quadrants and hit locations. He even says he’ll teach Alex when he gets back. And Lafayette can  _ hear  _ the delight on the other end of the line. Can hear one crystal clear sentence. “We’re gonna get together when you get back?” 

“Yeah...yeah I think we should.” It’s not going to be a particularly  _ fun _ conversation. Lafayette knows full well that John’s anxiety’s going to come out. His uncertainty is going to press forward. He’s going to struggle to find the words. And he’s going to have to plow through whatever nonsense Alex feels like spitting up. 

But. 

It’s a conversation he wants to have now. And it’s one that’s slightly overdue. Lifting John’s hand up, Lafayette presses his lips to the back of John’s palm. Settles it back down on the console. 

He only half listens to the rest of John and Alex’s conversation. Mentally keeping track of every missed opportunity with the buggies on the road. Even keeps a side tally for PT Cruisers. 

Besides, he’s certain there’s  _ something  _ fun he can come up with in regards to the 16 missed opportunities. 


	82. Chapter 82

Alex hugs John the moment he sees him. John's barely had time to step into the café before Alex is there. Arms wrapped around his neck. Head pressing against John's collarbone. He returns the hug almost instantaneously. Habit and relief melding together, shoving surprise firmly to the side. He's missed this.

It's just one more thing to add to his list. But he _has_ missed this. "We need to talk," John manages to get out. They're still standing in the doorway. Awkwardly shifting to the side to let new patrons in as the hug continues past its standard allotment of time.

To his credit, Alex doesn't complain. Doesn't even try to argue. He nods his head and steps back. Biting his bottom lip and looking for all the world that John's going to break up with him. Not an unreasonable assumption, all things considered. But also not what John has in mind.

He juts his chin toward the stairs, and they walk up together. Alex's hand grabbing onto John's. Holding it tight. As if this is going to be his last chance. He keeps looking back. Nervous and uncertain.

John almost feels bad about it. The feeling starts to rise. Starts to grow. He can feel apologies forming on his lips. But he swallows them back. _No._ He's allowed to be mad. He's allowed to take his time to process. Alex feeling bad about their separation isn't John's fault. It's a consequence to Alex's own actions.

He can't blame John for this.

Settling into a window seat, as far away from the other patrons as possible, John takes a deep breath. Fiddles a little with the cuff on his wrist. Alex's eyes narrow in on it immediately. "Ohh...that's pretty!" he reaches out, and John offers it up. Lets Alex play with the buckle and the stitching. Following the lines and shape of the cuff with wide eyes. Clearly impressed.

"Laf got it for me when we were in New York." Along with a hell of a lot of other things that Alex doesn't need to know about just yet. Soon. Once they start piecing together this fractured relationship. They'll get there soon.

Speaking of.

"I got something for you." Pulling his arm back, John slides his backpack off his shoulders. Unzipping it, he reaches in and pulls out the shopping bag. He passes it over to Alex who licks his lips as he turns it over and peers inside.

The squeal is of legendary proportions. John isn't even _trying_ to fight the grin that forms. The moment he saw it, he knew Alex would want it. And now that he's actually got it in hand, Alex is all but _bouncing_ in his seat.

"We went to the zoo, and well..." he trails off. Partly because he doesn't know how to explain what happened at the zoo. Partly because he doesn't think Alex is capable of listening anyway. He keeps stroking the seal's fur. Pressing his face against it. Snuggling it close. It's big enough for him to wrap his arms around. He could use it as a pillow if he wanted to.

"I thought you hated me," Alex says from behind a wall of seal.

"I did," John replies. Alex doesn't look up. Instead, he hugs the seal closer, and John sighs. "We...we need to talk." And by talk, what he really means is, "I need you to listen to me. Just. Don't argue. Don't say anything. I just. I need you to listen. And when I'm done. When I'm done I need you to say you're never going to do it again. If you can't...then...then that's fine. I...but I don't know if I _can_ keep doing this." He'd actually practiced that speech. He'd practiced it in front of the mirror. In the shower. With Lafayette.

Alex is hugging the seal close, but he nods his head anyway. John doesn't think he's ever seen him look so miserable. He hates every part about this. Hates feeling like he's hurting someone he cares about. And even though logic would say that Alex deserves this. John...really can't believe that. Can't convince himself that that's the truth. No one deserves feeling like the person they care about hates them.

Last night, John had spoken to Pierre. Had told him what he was feeling and what he intended to do. Pierre had listened to him for nearly three hours as John tried to get the wording right. He'd even helped with some of the key phrases that John _wanted_ to draft and get out, but couldn't quite manage.

They'd ended the call with Pierre promising he'd be State-side again soon. Honestly...John couldn't wait.

Licking his lips, he took a deep breath.

And began.

"You outed me to my father." It wasn't what Alex expected to hear. His head snaps up. His mouth falls open. He looks like he's been slapped in the face. Scandalized and almost a little annoyed at the same time. The anxiety starts immediately. He _knows_ Alex. Knows that once he gets started, he's not going to stop. And John's not going to be able to get this out. "Let me finish," he says shortly. Alex's mouth snaps shut. "You outed me to my father," John repeats. "And...and with everything that was happening. Alex—that wasn't your place to do. That was my choice. _Mine._ And you didn't respect it when I said no."

The language was important, Pierre told him. Frame it so Alex understands why it hurt so badly. Why it tore at John's psyche so he couldn't see straight for months. "My dad's no saint. He's not...he's not a good person. But it's not just my dad, Alex. It's my siblings. My family. At least before there was a chance I could see them. Even if it was a small chance."

Alex is biting his lip. Seemingly trying not to speak. Not to cry. John swallows. He's not done.


	83. Chapter 83

In anticipation for whatever outcome John has with Alex, Lafayette tracks down Madison. He finds him at his dorm room, unpacking his bags and settling in for return from break. Aaron's also there, and he tips his head toward Lafayette in greeting. "How was your break?" Aaron asks politely.

 _"Tres bon,"_ Lafayette replies. "And did you and Alex have fun?" Aaron rolls his eyes and doesn't actually reply to that. Though there's a faint blush on his cheeks that Lafayette could almost consider as adorable. "How is your family, Monsieur Madison?" Lafayette asks. He tosses himself on Madison's bed, and Madison shrugs one shoulder up.

"Pretty good, I guess. Gotta play chauffeur all break." Considering how many siblings Madison has, Lafayette assumes that's a full time job. "Where's John?"

"With Alex," Lafayette replies. He feels a little like the town gossip. Travelling from place to place. Eager to hear all sides of the story and sharing his own. He's only a few seconds away from nudging Madison and asking for any details so he can retell stories later.

But instead, Madison just nods sagely and shares a glance with Aaron. They've gotten better at Significant Looks over the past few months. Better, in the sense that whatever irritation Aaron had over Madison's...extracurricular activities...had faded into a somewhat casual acceptance of each other.

"I was...hoping to borrow you?" Lafayette continues. "For afterward." In case they needed to pick up the pieces of a breakup a long time coming. Or. In case John and Alex had become glued together and they needed to be reminded to eat. Potentially with pizza. John likes pizza.

"Yeah, sure." He's fairly agreeable about it, and easily snatches up his jacket. Loops it over his shoulder and toes on his shoes. "I'll text you either way," he tells Aaron. Aaron sighs.

"I'm sure I'll find out soon enough as it is." That's probably the truth. He waves them off easily enough, and they slip out of the dorm.

As they walk, Lafayette pesters Madison for more information. What are his siblings' names? What's it like having so _many?_ Does he get them mixed up? What does he _do_ with siblings? Madison indulges him. Snorting occasionally at a particularly strange question. As if he'd never contemplated life without a half a dozen rugrats traipsing after you.

"I don't know man, weren't you ever lonely?" Madison asks. "I mean, you're well off right?" He continues on even without Lafayette's answer. "Bet you got this big fancy house somewhere in the French Riviera. Gargoyles and some shit all along the side."

Not. Quite.

Madison's impervious to his scowl. Just keeps on day dreaming. "Running through the house like a terror. I can see it now."

"I am sure Hercules would agree." His friend would not only agree, but he'd sign the paperwork committing it to _law._ Hercules has no shame whatsoever. No sense of loyalty. He'd stand at Madison's side and shake his hand and tell him to keep spreading whatever half-truths Madison felt like sharing.

They're almost halfway across the quad when Madison's feet start slowing to a crawl. Lafayette follows his line of sight. Vaguely recognizing the young man that's slowly walking toward them. Hands tucked into his pockets and walking with such undeniable confidence, Thomas Jefferson barely spares Lafayette half a glance. 

"James." He says it like it's a command. Something Madison's used to responding to.

"Thomas," Madison replies back. It's far less forceful. Almost a thousand times more wary. "How was break?"

"Good, not as lucrative as I'd have liked...but. Things happen." For all the nice things John had to say about Madison, he has far less things to say about Jefferson. He's come up in conversation once or twice.

Usually when Madison was over and receiving a text. Reminding him that he had a job to do. Places to go. People to see. Though those occurrences had gotten far more sparse after John's relapse. After Madison had made his decision to stop dealing.

Lafayette had heard them talking about it once. On a late night where Madison had been over watching movies. Explaining that his break plans had been cancelled because Jefferson had told him that he didn't _need_ someone hanging around who wasn't going to give him anything in return.

It'd been the start, as far as Lafayette had been able to tell, of Madison realizing his friendship with Jefferson may have been more than a little one-sided. All things considered, it's a little ironic to note that John's currently trying to fix a relationship right now. While at the same time, Madison's slowly stepping away from a relationship.

"Sorry to hear that," Madison tells Jefferson. He even manages to sound sincere about it. It's more restraint than Lafayette could have exuded. But, Madison's a good kid. Far too kind for ugly people like Jefferson to take advantage of him.

"How are things at the library?" Jefferson asks. And it's remarkable how they've mastered this art of having two different conversations at the same time. How to an ordinary bystander, their conversation is simple. Light-hearted. Polite even.

There's an ebb and flow to this. A give and take. Jefferson reaches out, and Madison reaches back. "It's good," Madison says evenly. "I like it. Picking up a few more hours. Fills up a lot of spare time I wasn't really using anyway."

Jefferson nods. Flicks his eyes toward Lafayette, then back at Madison. "And how's your... _friend?_ The little one. With the annoying sidekick."

"They're both fine," Madison replies shortly. "We're actually on our way to meet them. So. Another time?" Jefferson nods. Steps out of the way.

"You know where to find me if you ever wanted to talk shop."

"Right. Will do." Madison takes hold of Lafayette's arm and leads him forward. "Have a great rest of term."

They cross the quad quickly. Neither mentions the meeting again.

Though Lafayette does glance back.

Jefferson's watching them as they leave.


	84. Chapter 84

"The thing is," John mumbles. "A lot happened that month. That year. And. I wasn't handling it well. And. With everything else happening, with dad and Martha and...I messed up a lot. And I know that." Alex opens his mouth again. Ready to protest. Ready to come to John's defense and tell him he was completely blameless. An innocent child who just didn't know better. The poor abused waif who's so desperate for kindness he can't tell the difference. "Shut up." Alex's mouth closes before he can even get one word out.

"You promised," John reminds. Alex nods. He hugs the seal tighter. Keeps his mouth closed. "I knew what was going to happen at that party. Alex. I made a _choice._ I knew what I was going to be doing that night. And I _chose to go._ I chose to go. I chose to let it happen. That was my _choice._ And I may not have wanted to have sex with Martha Manning, but that doesn't change the fact that I made that choice."

Pierre hadn't particularly agreed with John's point of view of the situation, but he hadn't argued it. Hadn't tried to convince John otherwise. Just told John he hopes he's never in a position where he'll have to make that choice again. John agrees. He hopes he isn't either.

"After...after what happened. My dad hugged me. Said he was proud of me. My dad's never been proud of me a day in his life." It's almost funny thinking about it now. "And I _know_ it's not healthy. I _know_ that that's not the right reaction. That I shouldn't have even thought about it. I _get_ that. I do. But damn it Alex. I made my bed. I lay in it. And before I could even figure out if it was worth it—you _told him I was gay."_

His friend flinches. Shrinks back. Wilts. "I had a right to see for myself if I wanted to deal with that. I had a right to make that decision on my own. To see if fucking Martha and keeping up the charade was worth it. But I never had the chance. I never had the chance. And that's not right. It's not fair. And it. It felt like."

This is the part he struggled with. The part where he needed to repeat the key points again and again. Pierre calmly talking him through his self imposed script. His internal dialogue. So that John could gather his point and deliver it without breaking down. Without making this mess so much more complicated than it deserved to be.

"It felt like I never had any control to begin with. People who said they cared about me were making decisions for me, and my opinion didn't matter. My...choices didn't matter. Saying _no_ didn't matter."

Alex's face is a broken mirror. Reflecting all the pain and turmoil right back at John. Shattering into pieces and crumbling to the ground. There are tears in Alex's eyes. The seal's being squeezed near in half. But Alex keeps his promise.

He waits his turn.

John continues, "I need...Alex you're my best friend. I've _missed_ you. I've missed you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself half the time. I spent all of break wanting to text you. Wanting to show you what I was doing. Wanting to know how you're doing. I wanted that with you. But I kept. With everything else going on, I kept thinking about dad and what happened. And the fact that you. You _told_ him. You _told_ him even when I begged you not to."

"I'm sorry," Alex blurts out. John's heart breaks. He knows that already. Knows it even as Alex repeats the phrase again and again. Rubbing at his eyes.

"I forgive you," John tells him. It's the truth. Right now, in this moment, sitting across from Alex in this café, the words ring true. He forgives Alex. He wants to move past this. He wants to know that this will never happen again.

"You shouldn't forgive me. You shouldn't. I. I'm so sorry. I'm..." crying so hard that he's choking on snot. Alex rubs his hands over his face. The seal tumbles off his lap as he sobs. A few people are looking their way, but John doesn't care about them.

He reaches down, and he picks up the seal. Hands it back to his friend. "Alex...I know that my dad's a bastard. I know you were already upset because of Martha...but if you were that upset over it—think about how I felt? I didn't want to lose the one thing I even went along with Martha _for."_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—"

"—Alex." His friend stops. Sniffs loudly. " I was upset, because what happened with Martha shouldn't have happened, but at least I had _some_ say in it happening. At least I knew what was going to happen. At least I had _some_ agency. With my dad...there'd been nothing. I wasn't expecting it. I didn't want that. It _cannot happen again._ "

Alex nods. Nods rapidly. Nods and doesn't stop nodding. "Promise me. Promise me that even if it's not a decision you agree with, even if it's not in your benefit, even if you want to argue it the other way. _Promise me_ you will respect whatever choice I make. You won't ignore my choice. You won't pretend you don't _know_ what my choice is. If I say no—the answer is _no."_

"I promise. I promise. I won't do it again. I _promise."_ John nods. Okay then.

He opens up his arms, and Alex propels himself forward. Hugs John tighter than he's ever done in the past. Still crying hard and showing no signs of stopping. John just holds him close. He feels...not good. But not bad. It's not even apathy.

It's resolution.

Acceptance. Ready to move on, and start again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


End file.
